Trailblazing
by winter machine
Summary: "Hi. I'm Meredith Grey. And YOU must be the woman who answered my husband's phone." A plane ride from Seattle to DC kicks off an alternate season eleven in which Meredith and the kids get to the east coast before Derek hits the west - and stay there. MerDer, Zola, Bailey, the whole shebang. BACK as of June 2018!
1. words and meaning

**A/N: So** here's the deal. This takes place more of less in lieu of 11x16. More notes after the story. I hope you'll give it a try!

 ***If you're re-reading*,** please note that certain elements/dialogue have been revised to reflect the children's ages. If you're reading for the first time, you're all set. Enjoy!

* * *

 **.. Trailblazing ..**

* * *

 _When I was in the third grade, my reading teacher, Mrs. Thorpe, taught us about homophones. She told us that two different words can sound exactly the same, but still mean different things: like the pair that sticks together, and the pear you eat instead of an apple. Or the plain that means no frills, and the plane you board to go somewhere else. …anywhere else._

"Mommy, did you hear me?" Zola tugs on her sleeve.

 _Hear, that's another example. The one that means you're listening, not the one that means where you are right now._

"I heard you, sweetie." Meredith strokes her daughter's cheek. "I know you dropped the blue crayon, but we can't take off our seatbelts to pick it up right now."

"Why not?"

"That's the rule, to keep us safe."

"But we're not moving…"

Meredith smiles.

"Actually, we're moving so fast we can't even feel it. And if we take off our seatbelt too soon … it could be _bumpy!_ " and she tickles her daughter, making her squeal.

"Here." She removes an extra crayon from the pack. "How about red instead?"

Zola considers it. "Okay." She examines the crayon from every angle and then returns to the blank page of her sketchbook.

 _In some parts of the world, the word marry, as in deciding to share your life with someone, sounds just like the word merry, as in, having a grand old time. It came as no surprise to me that Boston wasn't one of those places. Because marry and merry? That would be a homophone that wouldn't make much sense to me. Funny, though … there's only one way to hear the word "wife,", or the word "husband."_

Meredith hasn't thought about Addison in years.

It was only months that they lived in the same city. If she thinks of her now, it's casually – she sent a gift when Bailey was born, which was kind, and Meredith sent a note in return.

But she thought about Addison in the airport. Just for a moment, just for a second, but – she thought about her. And then she hefted her bag higher on her shoulder, patted Bailey in his carrier on her chest and tightened her hold on Zola's little hand.

"Is it time to go?" Zola asked. "Mommy, is it time?"

 _There's also bale, a big block of hay to feed the kind of cute farm animals in children's board books. And then there's bail, the price you pay to get out of the consequences of something wrong that you did._

Bailey wakes up, fussing, and she soothes him.

"I know, baby, I know you're hungry."

"Why is he crying?"

"Because he's hungry." She smiles at Zola. "And tired. So even though he has some words to talk to us now, he can't always find then when he's hungry and tired … so he cries instead."

"Oh." Zola thinks about this. "I'm hungry too," she says.

"See, like that." Meredith uses her free hand to root in the diaper bag for one of those little packages of snacks that Zola likes.

Then she uses her teeth to open it. _Resourceful,_ that's what she has to be, with the three of them traveling together. Two of them to one of her – tricky odds.

Zola is chewing a goldfish cracker contemplatively. "Are you feeding him now?"

"I sure am."

Meredith strokes one of Bailey's soft cheeks with the back of her finger, encouraging him to drink. Cradled in her arms like this, he feels almost like his infant self.

"Mommy." Zola pauses, goldfish halfway to her pursed lips. "Why is that lady staring?"

Meredith glances up to see an older woman with her head turned toward her family. She's blushing at Zola's words, looking embarrassed.

"I'm sorry, dear," the woman says. "I didn't mean to stare."

"That's fine." Meredith frees a hand to stroke Zola's head. "This one just likes to look out for us."

"To be honest … I was admiring you."

Meredith can't help laughing a little at that. Bailey spilled milk on her miles back and Zola dumped half her glass of apple juice onto the seat. There are cracker crumbs in her hair – which hasn't been brushed since this morning, or …

Okay, since last night.

"Really," Meredith says doubtfully. As if to prove her point, Zola wriggles low in her chair to kick the seat in front of her.

"I was a single mother before it was fashionable," the woman smiles. "And traveling alone … that was always the hardest."

 _A single mother_.

Meredith smiles weakly. Is that what she is?

She did wake up alone, as she has every night since he left. She put both children to bed and woke with Bailey whenever he needed her.

 _When you're a mother, you do things you wouldn't ordinarily do. (That's another one. Do, like carry something out. Due: your time's up.) There are so many homophones in the English language. So many that it doesn't really seem like a coincidence. No … it's like we want to confuse each other or something. Or maybe we just want to know there's another meaning out there, if we don't like the first one. We want our vocabularies to be as flexible as we are. When you can choose what something means … then you're really free._

Planes, trains, and automobiles. Well, just automobiles; the stroller fills up the trunk and she holds both children close, pointing out the few things she recognizes to a curious Zola.

"Right here is great," she tells the driver, hoping it might be true.

Inside it's all glass and the clack-clack of people hurrying to do important work; she leaves the stroller with security, lifts Bailey into her arms, and holds Zola's hand for the whole elevator ride. A friendly receptionist leads her to the office, opening the door for her, since both Meredith's hands are full with her children.

They both look up when the door opens.

 _He's tired,_ that's her first thought. _He hasn't been sleeping well._

And as for ... her? She has long, shining hair, and there's intent in her eyes. This woman has known Derek only a few months, that's Meredith's second thought: she doesn't even know him. She can't possibly tell from the color of his eyes how much sleep he got last night, or what it means that the collar of his dress shirt is slightly limp on the right side. (He hates stays; he pulls them out before he puts his shirts away. They're too stiff, he always says, but he'll get distracted by his wife or his children or a page and only take one of them out.)

"Meredith?" Derek turns to her with amazement. "What – what are you doing here?"

Zola releases her mother's hand to run across the room and jump into his arms, and for a moment Meredith just watches how excited they are to see each other. "Daddy, I missed you!"

"I missed you so much, Zo." He kisses her enough times to make her squeal with laughter. "I missed all of you." His voice is rough with emotion when he crosses the few steps between them, reaching out to stroke Bailey's sleeping face. His hand hovers in the air for a moment, then lightly touches Meredith's hair.

"Meredith." His eyes are soft, confused. "This is … a surprise."

She just looks at him.

"It's a wonderful surprise," he corrects hastily. "This is wonderful surprise. But – I had no idea you were coming. You didn't tell me, and I was planning to fly home tomorrow." He pauses, a look of concern flashing across his face. "Did something happen? Is something wrong?"

 _Yes, and yes. But not the somethings you mean._

She just shakes her head.

"So you're just … here." He smiles at her. "I didn't know you were coming," he repeats.

"Well … I didn't tell you."

"No, you didn't tell me. I know. That's why I had no idea."

Bailey takes a fistful of his mother's hair, apparently losing patience with his parents' circular conversation. She detaches his fingers gently; when she looks up again Derek is staring at her, head cocked slightly, eyes curious and gentle. It's such a familiar stance.

"Meredith," he asks again, "what are you doing here?"

 _Road is another one. Rode, the past tense of sitting in a car in beltway traffic, and road, the path you take. If you're married? It's the path you take together. Now trail … trail isn't a homophone. So maybe that's why it took me a while to really understand what it meant. I thought it had to mean you were following behind, with no agency of your own. Getting dragged, like a toddler's blankie or a loose thread on the cuff of an old pair of jeans. Or … well, my father. But the thing is … I'm not my father._

"You're here, Derek."

"I'm here," he agrees. "But you said-"

"So we're here too," she continues calmly, speaking over his last few words. "We don't want to be where you're not anymore."

 _Because trail has another meaning too. A trail is also a path – a way to go. Trails take work. Trails get blazed. A trail can lead you from where you are to where you want to be. When you fall off that trail … when your family falls of that trail … well, it sucks._

With that, she turns to the brunette, giving her a friendly smile and stretching out a hand to her. "Hi. I'm Meredith. And _you_ must be the woman who answered my husband's phone."

… _so who says a trailing spouse can't be the one who leads us back?_

* * *

 **And that's it.** I wanted to give Meredith a chance to unite the family - and create an alternate second half of Season 11 where all four of them are together in DC. I have to be honest, I'm fairly new to writing and reading MerDer so I'm sure someone else has made use of that famous line before, but I wanted to use it here as a symbol of Meredith taking her life, and marriage, back. Double bonus: away from their comfort zones, _both_ of them having to work to fix things, they're on equal footing. Triple bonus: Derek isn't in Seattle so he doesn't get hit by a truck, thank you very much. You can read this as a one-shot. Or ... I can continue it and build a new rest of the eleventh season in DC. Thank you so much for reading, and I'd love to know what you think!


	2. lines and aftermath

_**A/N:**_ **Thank you so much** for all your reviews on this story and excitement for me to continue. So here we go with chapter two. But listen up, MerDers - this story's for you and I want it to be an interactive experience. Read up, hopefully enjoy, and check me in the notes after the story for more on that...

* * *

.. Lines and Aftermath ..

* * *

 _You know in those old movies from the 1930s and 1940s, there'd always be a sassy dame – classy, but mouthy – the kind who stalks into the room wearing a fabulous outfit and killer heels, drops a showstopping line and then walks out again? Think Katharine Hepburn. Think Rosalind Russell. Think of the old tube TV switched to AMC, alone at night while my mother is at the hospital saving someone else's life and I'm filling the silence at home with women who seem to know exactly what they're doing._

 _But it's a funny thing about dropping lines. Those movies never taught me what comes after you drop the line. No one warned me how those lines can devastate. No one told me what happens next can be the worst part._

The last time, the _you must be the woman who's been screwing my husband_ time, Meredith turned around and left. She'd heard enough to know it was time to bury her betrayal in as many shots of tequila as she could fit in her fists. She walked away.

But this time it's her line. Her words are the ones that drop, and from the expression in Derek's eyes he knows exactly where Meredith found her inspiration.

This time, Meredith's not the little intern gobsmacked by a painful truth.

No, this time Meredith's in charge.

Her heart is pounding with power; when the nervous-looking brunette stammers an awkward introduction, Meredith doesn't even catch her name. She doesn't retain any of it from length to consonants. It could be Mary, it could be Veronica, it could be HusbandStealer for all she knows, the name just disappears into the air along with her stammering something between a greeting and an apology.

"I should – I should go." The brunette is looking from Derek to Meredith to the door and back again like she's trying to draw a triangle with her eyes.

"Oh, well, if you have somewhere else to be," Meredith says pleasantly. "Nice to meet you. I'm sure I'll be seeing you again soon."

 _Okay, maybe I have a few more lines to drop before I'm done._

The brunette looks horrified at the thought of seeing Meredith again soon – appropriately so. And then she's vanished, if not physically then at least from Meredith consciousness. The click of the door makes clear she's left the room, too.

Good _._

"Meredith …"

"Let me talk first," she says. "Because I do want you to talk. I have questions, and I need answers – I don't know if I _want_ answers, but I do need them – but not yet."

He's looking at her mutely.

"Derek?"

"You told me not to talk."

She has to force herself not to smile. "Do you understand what I mean?"

"I do. I get it. And it's fair. I want to talk to you, but I can wait until you're ready."

"Okay, then." She nods. "Thank you."

"But, Meredith …" He studies her seemingly bare possessions, the diaper bag and two small children. "What is this? It's a visit, it's a … temporary thing? What?"

"What is this?" She follows his gaze. " _This_ is our family. And our family is not a temporary thing."

The knot of his rises moves as he swallows hard. Gently, he sets Zola down in the soft chair by the door of his office and then turns back to Meredith, speaking quietly. "You're … moving here. You're _moving_ here?"

"We're moving here."

"Meredith … I don't know what to say."

He looks genuinely stunned.

"Say you know a child-friendly place to eat lunch," she suggests, raising her volume so her daughter can hear. "Zola's starving and so am I."

"I'm starving," Zola confirms. "And so is Bailey," she adds, interpreting his needs like the big sister she is. "Daddy … are you hungry too?"

He's staring at Zola's face like he's trying to memorize it. "I'm too happy to be hungry," he says throatily, and then he scoops her off the chair and holds her tightly again. When they pull apart, he uses the end of his tie to tickle their daughter's cheeks like he's done since she was small; she still squeals with laughter and grabs the lapels of his jacket.

Derek meets Meredith's gaze. "We'll talk more? At lunch?"

"After lunch," she says. "We'll talk more after lunch. We'll talk more when we can talk alone." She shifts Bailey in her arms. "I have a stroller at security. And some other things."

"You're always prepared."

"You taught me well. I used to have to prep your OR."

For a moment his gaze is so intense she doesn't want to break it, and then Zola giggles again and he turns his attention to her. "Let's find you some lunch, ZoZo, huh?"

He shifts her to his hip and his free hand settles in the middle of Meredith's back, guiding her through the door he opens and into the hallway.

"Dr. Shepherd, you have visitors!" The warm voice calls out to them as soon as they leave Derek's office.

The receptionist, a friendly-faced older blonde with a bouffant of neatly teased hair, beams at them from her hexagonal post near Derek's office.

"I do." Derek is smiling; she can hear it in his voice. "Marianne, this … is my family."

"Hello, family." She beams at them. "Oh, what beautiful children. No wonder I spend half my time searching for the perfect flights back to Seattle. You miss these faces, and who wouldn't?"

Derek smiles. "This is Zola," he gives her a little boost on her hip. "Zo, you want to say hi to Daddy's friend?"

Zola, who can read a room so impressively sometimes it's almost scary, waves one small hand at the reception and tops it with a big smile and an audible _hi_ and Meredith thinks for a moment the woman might actually faint.

" _Hi,_ sweetheart. She's just darling, Dr. Shepherd _._ Oh my."

"We think so too. We're a little biased." He introduces Meredith and the softly snuggled little lump that is Bailey before taking their leave.

"Heading out for the day? Or just for lunch?" The receptionist looks from Meredith to Derek.

 _For lunch,_ she waits for him to say.

"For the day," he says, "but I'm reachable, and tell Sherman I'll be checking in around four."

"Will do." She rewards them with one last sunny smile. "Bye now!"

Meredith turns to her husband at the elevator bank. "Taking the afternoon off, huh?"

"You're not the only one with surprises up your sleeve, you know."

"Oh, really."

"Really." He nods with confidence. "I have surprises you've never seen."

"You didn't know we were coming."

"A technicality." He reaches out to rub Bailey's back through the carrier, then leans in to see his sleeping face. "He looks so much bigger."

"He changes every day."

Derek looks like he's going to say something, but the elevator arrives and they board, Derek directing Zola to push the button for the lobby. She clings to his leg when she's done it, laughing when he pretends to shake her off, tickling her in the process.

"Zola really missed you," Meredith observes, enjoying watching them together as she always has.

"Zola did." Derek's head is tilted slightly, his eyes very soft. "What about her mother? Did she miss me?"

Meredith shifts Bailey in her arms. "Ask me after lunch."

"You know … elevators used to be sort of a special place for us, not sure if you remember…"

" _Don't_ push your luck." But she can't help reaching up to give his face a quick pat, enjoying the feeling of his faint stubble against her palm.

…

It's cool enough for a light jacket, the trees starting to bud. All around them, bare branches are starting to come back to life. After flying across the country, Zola doesn't want to be carried, no matter how happy she is to see her father. She insists on walking, clinging to one hand from each parent. And she's thrilled, the busy DC passersby are less so.

Derek finally solves the problem by offering her a ride on his shoulders and a resulting vantage point higher than anyone else's. She ends up delighted with her newfound power, as well as the ready-made handlebars of Derek's thick curls. And now the citizens who just want to get lunch and go back to work can pass them on the sidewalk.

Compromise. Maybe it actually works.

Meredith pushes the stroller, the soothing motion of the wheels keeping Bailey asleep. He'll be hungry too, soon – as Zola predicted – but with Derek here too it won't be the complicated dance she had to do in the airport, on the plane, and so many times in Seattle, juggling two small children, keeping her active little daughter from hurting herself or dashing out of vision while tending to her baby son. There are two of them here now, and two children.

Maybe the odds are finally in her favor after all.

They sit in a booth at a diner where the waitress – who seems to be straight from central casting – clearly has some experience with Derek, greeting him by name and reciting an order that Meredith can tell is perfectly memorized.

"Dr. Shepherd, I can't believe I'm finally seeing you in a group. He's always alone," she tells Meredith. "He always comes in here alone and I always tell him, honey, no one who looks like that should be alone."

Meredith laughs in spite of herself.

"My family flew out from the west coast," Derek says, and Meredith catches the way his lips twitch with pride.

"Your family, huh?" The waitress, hairnet containing her bun, dark pink smock covering a tan dress, looks from one Shepherd to the next, starting with Zola, who is currently using a purple crayon to swirl her name across the yellow placement, and then Meredith, who has swiped Zola's blue crayon to stick through the hasty updo she constructed out of necessity when Bailey attempted to scalp her with the hand not holding his bottle, and then Bailey himself, who is sleeping again in his mother's arms, half baby and almost toddler with his soft hair and round cheeks.

"Your family," the waitress repeats. Her name tag says _Glenda._ "Well, doc, I guess I was wrong, you weren't alone after all."

"No, I wasn't." He smiles back and Meredith feels a squeezing sensation in her chest that has nothing to do with the greasy French fries she plans to order.

…

"So." Derek pushes away his plate – the salad was constructed so perfectly to his specifications that Meredith wonders for a brief, not-funny-but-funny moment if fifty-something Glenda is actually the woman who answered Derek's phone.

Zola, who begged for a club sandwich, has managed to make her way through one or two of its massive three layers. (Privately, Meredith is almost certain that her daughter's sudden passion for turkey and bacon was actually a misunderstanding that _club sandwich_ would have something to do with _Club Math,_ her favorite or what Derek likes to call child-propaganda programs.) Zola's mood is mellowed from food and recovered from her brief annoyance when Bailey expressed interest in the pretty, colorfully-ruffled but very sharp toothpicks from her precariously stacked sandwich and her parents hastily confiscated them.

"So," Meredith answers, snagging a piece of untouched bacon from Zola's plate.

"I'm done," Zola announces, looking down at the pile of sandwich parts that's not much smaller than when it arrived. "You can have the rest."

"Thank you, Zo, that's good sharing."

"Daddy, you can share too." Zola holds out a cheerfully threatening handful of bacon toward her father next.

He leans forward to nibble one pieces of bacon out of his daughter's hand – she squeals with surprise and drops the rest on the table and ground.

Meredith props her head in her hand, hoping bacon is good for split ends.

"Well. It's _wonderful_ that y'all came to visit the doctor." Glenda beams at the four of them as she ambles back up to their booth. "I know he's been real lonely – don't get mad, now," she adds, smiling fondly at Derek. "But I _will_ say the table was a little cleaner when it was just him."

Derek laughs. "Sorry about that," he says, and as if trying to prove his point Zola's elbow slides into her – thankfully mostly finished – glass of milk, and tips it over. Red plastic bounces off the tabletop and a puddle of sticky liquid spills out.

"Oops."

Derek rights the glass and Zola stares at the spreading puddle for a moment before grasping a handful of napkins from the pile on the table and using a large stack to soak up the liquid.

"Well, aren't you a smart little girl!" Glenda's voice is bright. "My grandkids would've just dumped out the rest." She turns to Derek. "Check, hon?"

"Yes, please."

Derek leans forward across the booth when the waitress takes her leave.

Zola, in one of her lightning-quick shifts of childhood circadian rhythms, holds her arms up to Derek to be cuddled and promptly starts dozing on his lap. Meredith looks down at Bailey, who's still sleeping.

"Something we said?" Derek teases.

"Jet lag?" Meredith smiles a little. "Or we bored them."

"And here we thought we were interesting." Derek sighs. "Hey…"

Meredith looks up.

"Move over," he says.

She starts to ask why, then decides against it, just bracing herself on the edge of the heavy table and pulling herself and Bailey to the wall. Derek eases out of his side of the booth, holding Zola close, and settles next to Meredith without waking their daughter.

"Hi," he says.

"Hi." She strokes Bailey's back through the carrier. "We're … on the same side," she observes.

"We're always on the same side."

"Don't get all symbolic on me." She shakes her head. "What's with the move?"

"We're done with lunch," he says.

"We're done with lunch," she agrees.

"So…"

She lifts an eyebrow, waiting.

"So, you said to ask you after lunch. Did you? Miss me, I mean."

"Well … I'll put it this way." Meredith strokes Bailey's back again, his sleepy breathing against her chest soothing. "I just left behind the most incredible house I've ever seen, that my husband painstakingly built _for_ me, on some of the most beautiful land in Seattle, to move to a city I have seen more than once described as _a combination of all the worst aspects of the other major American cities, with a special hell all its own._ "

Derek looks like he's trying not to smile, all kinds of emotion behind the curvature in his lips, from amusement to hope.

"…so, based on that … "

But he leans in and kisses her before she can finish her sentence, which should be complicated with a sleeping Bailey cuddled against her and a dozing Zola cuddled in her father's arms, but Derek manages it somehow and she can't resist tangling her free hand in his hair as his lips capture hers, electrically familiar. They're gentle but insistent, asking permission and staking a claim all at once.

She's already staked hers. And later, once they've settled in to the hotel room tonight … maybe she'll stake another.

For now, it's enough to kiss him back, enjoying the feeling of having everyone she loves in such close proximity.

When he pulls back she actually feels a little wobbly. She tucks her hair behind her ears, catching her breath. His eyes are hazy when she meets them; he looks as affected as she does.

"I didn't let you finish your answer. But I guess it's not really fair to ask you now if you missed me … ?" His grin is halfway between sheepish and cocky; she should be annoyed, but she can't stop the smile that's already starting to cover her face.

"No, it's not fair," she agrees. She reaches her free hand out to rest it against his chest, covering the fabric of his shirt near their sleeping daughter's sweet face. She likes feeling his heartbeat. "And yes … I did."

"I knew it."

"But we still have a lot to talk about. _Derek,_ " but he's kissing her again, so she decides that talking can wait. For now.

 _Okay, so sometimes what happens next can be the worst part. You drop a line and then the world caves in. Relationships are split, betrayals are revealed, lives are ruined._

 _But maybe sometimes what happens next … it isn't worse. It isn't worse at all._

 _Maybe it's even better._

* * *

 _ **TBC. Input!**_ _What do you want to see in this alternate half-of-Season 11? What do you wish had happened if Mer had taken the babes to DC for a new start? Likes, dislikes, preferences? Is it too obvious that I want Zola in every scene because she's cuter than life? Are you okay with my Grey's style intros and endings because I am really loving doing them and I kind of don't want to stop ever. In other words, think of this as a MerDer choose your own adventure, and ... choose the adventure you want me to write. Review and let me know your thoughts!_


	3. doors and windows

**A/N: Thank you so much** for all the feedback on this story. I am so so sorry for the long delay in updating! Please note that I've revised the first two chapters to reflect the updated timeline (and thank you to the reviewer who tactfully pointed out that my children were too young for Season 11 - I very much appreciate it! And I'm having tons of fun with them now that they're older, too). Thank you so much for all your comments and thoughts about what you hope the story will do; they're so helpful. I hope you enjoy Chapter 3!

* * *

 **.. Doors and Windows ..**

* * *

 _We make divisions between simple and complex. Everyone does._

 _It's just human nature._

 _And we do it everywhere, too, from the very beginning: as children. As students. As doctors. The first procedure I did? Exciting. But the first complex procedure?_ _That … was life changing. The thing is, though, sometimes those divisions aren't quite as straightforward as they seem. It makes sense that the simple things should be easy, and the complex things should be hard. But it doesn't always work that way. Sometimes something that seems complex – like opening your home and your heart to a child – is the easiest thing you've ever done._

 _And something simple – like talking to someone you've had so many conversations with before – is about as complex as it gets._

"Are you ... ready to talk?"

She glances at Derek when she hears his tentative question. They're only a half a block from the diner where they ate lunch, heading back towards his office.

"I am, but they aren't." She indicates Bailey, who's sleeping in the stroller she's pushing, and Zola, who's hanging onto Derek's hand. Meredith can tell from the way their daughter has gone from skipping every other step to skipping every five steps that she's starting to get tired.

They've had a long day – well, a long night that grew into a long day, and she knows both children need naps. For Zola, who considers the word _nap_ an affront to her obviously burgeoning maturity, that might involve some combination of bribery and finesse – Zola does like to "read in bed," the way she sees her parents do, and she can usually be convinced to hold one of her picture books before she inevitably falls asleep with it.

Derek nods, accepting her answer, and they work smoothly in tandem to pick up the suitcases and hail a taxi the short distance to Derek's hotel. Zola gives up her pretense of wakefulness during the ride. By the time they've pulled up to the lobby, two uniformed men rushing out to assist them, she's sitting on Derek's shoulders again, her head starting to bow sleepily over his. They juggle suitcases and children; now that there are two of them to manage two children and three people's luggage, Meredith can't believe she managed it alone.

The hotel is an impersonal mid-rise with a lobby full of glass and mirrors and chattering diplomats. So far, everyone in DC seems to be wearing the same suit and tie, but Meredith decides she'll deal with that later. The mirrors, meanwhile, appeal to Zola, who begs to get down and then examines her reflection from several different angles with interest.

Meredith can remember that feeling – she wasn't much older than Zola is now when her mother moved them to Boston. Meredith remembers looking at herself in the mirror in their drab new apartment, turning from side to side, poking at her blonde hair, her cheeks, her chin – not quite sure how it worked. Was she the same person, in a different place? Or did a different place make _her_ different, too?

She watches her daughter turn her head from side to side, smiles as a passing middle-aged couple beam at her cuteness. Meredith marvels at how Zola is similar to her in some ways, and in others – so different. It's the differences that keep Meredith going, that make it worth the sleepless nights, the morning exhaustion, the fact that she hasn't read anything without a talking animal in it in about … three years. Zola has a confidence Meredith didn't have at that age, a security. A belief that her parents _want_ to be there.

She can't bear to take that from her children. She stood in the middle of their Seattle living room surrounded by painstakingly built pine and memories and told herself it was worth rebuilding whatever had happened to her marriage to make it better for her children.

But now she's reminded, as she watches Derek with a now-awake Bailey, murmuring softly to him and pointing out Zola, then joining her, that it's not just for the children. She wants to rebuild it for herself, too.

She may not know exactly how, not yet. But she does know one thing: she knows they can't do that apart.

So if that means living in a hotel until they find something more permanent – Zola will be pleased, as Derek lets her press the button for his tenth floor room, and then when Bailey shouts to be included, lifts him up to press it again – well, then that seems like a small price to pay for everyone to be together.

…

"It's not much," Derek warns, as the children clamor to insert the key card into the lock.

"I'm sure it will be fine. Take turns, guys," she reminds Zola and Bailey, smiling when a surprisingly patient Zola helps her brother slide the card in and out. It takes several tries, and Meredith is starting to think they'll be spending the night in the hallway, when the light turns green and the door swings open to welcome them.

"Dada's house!" Bailey beams when he stumbles over the threshold and Meredith catches the discomfort that flashes across her husband's face.

"Look, sweetie, who's this?" Meredith takes her son's hand to distract him and leads him to the simple desk across the room, facing the window. There's a large-screen monitor, a keyboard, a conference phone setup, and two framed photographs. She indicates the picture of Zola with a smaller Bailey in her arms. In the picture, he's gazing up at her adoringly and she's laughing, showing pearly white little teeth. It's Christmas.

"Zozo." Bailey points. "Baby," he adds.

"Which baby? _This_ baby?" She tickles him, he laughs, and, sufficiently distracted, she strokes the top of his head and turns to look at the other picture.

The frame is narrow and silver and the photograph is just Meredith, shoulders up. She's looking into the camera– but she doesn't remember when it was taken; it doesn't look familiar. The light is faded, not black and white, but cast in blue instead. She's wearing a scrub cap, and she's looking at the camera like she knows a secret; her eyes are soft and a smile curves the corner of her lips.

Derek sees her looking at it. "I love that picture," he says softly.

"I don't remember it." She studies the frame again. "What am I … looking at? In the picture, I mean."

"Me," Derek says simply. "You're looking at me."

Oh.

Before she can answer, she's distracted by Zola climbing nimbly onto the couch and starting to jump on its cushions.

"Hang on, Zo, let's not do that." Meredith helps her down and cups her daughter's smooth little face. "You need a bath."

"How come?"

"Because we traveled a long way to get here." Meredith looks over to the window to see Bailey in his father's arms, watching intently as Derek points out vehicles on the street below. Apparently the view is toddler approved. The rest of the room is simple, surprisingly spacious with a couch and sitting area, small kitchenette, work setup, and what she assumes is a bathroom.

She leads Zola into the attached bedroom, pulling her own small purple suitcase. The bedroom has a vast king sized bed made up with military precision, a sitting area, and the sort of standard faceless hotel-room decoration she'd expect, including a large framed print of Washington crossing the Delaware.

"Mommy." Zola releases the suitcase and looks up at her mother. "Are we staying here?"

"We're staying here tonight," Meredith responds.

"But me and Bailey…" Zola's voice trails off. "Is it like in _Polly Penguin Packs_?"

Meredith tries to remember which of Zola's many books this refers to.

"It's Sofia's book," Zola clarifies. "She gived it to me to borrow."

"She gave it to you to borrow? That was nice of her." And then Meredith remembers, of course, and she swallows hard.

It's one of those divorce-easing books for children where a brightly colored animal or gender neutral, formless little child, acts out the routine of moving from parent to parent.

Sitting Zola down on the chaise by the window, she kneels so they can look each other in the eye. "No, it's not like that, Zo, because in that book Polly –" and her brother Peter, Meredith remembers, "they travel back and forth by themselves. But all four of us are staying right here."

"You're staying with us," Zola repeats.

"Of course I'm staying with you, Zola!" She looks into her daughter's earnest, curious face. "What did you think, sweetie?"

"Maybe you were taking us to Daddy and we would live with him and then he would bring us back and we would live with you…" her voice trails off. "Like Polly Penguin, she lives in Alaska for half the time and the Arctic for the other half."

"Oh. No, no, Zo, I'm so sorry, I didn't know you had questions about it or I would have done a better job explaining. It's not like Polly Penguin. We all used to live in Seattle together … and then Daddy came here to work … and now we're all here together and we're all staying together."

Zola nods slowly. "But you said Daddy was just working here. That he still lives with us."

"That's right." She waits for Zola to explain further.

"But he's not at the hospital."

"Well, Daddy does a different kind of work here, so… " Meredith pauses. "Zozo, do you mean you thought he would just stay in the hospital to sleep and not have a bed like he has here?"

"Yeah. Beds are for houses."

"I got you. Let me see if I break it down better, okay?"

Zola nods uncertainly.

" _This_ is a hotel." Meredith gestures around the room. "It's where people stay when they're visiting somewhere. Or working somewhere. And it's where we're staying now because that's what we're doing. But we're here for just going to be here for a little while – until we find a place for the four of us to _live_. And not a hospital, either. A home."

"A home," Zola says slowly. "But what about my other home? In Seattle?"

"It's not going anywhere, sweetie. It will be waiting for us when we go back and in the meantime Aunt Amy is going to watch it for us."

"So we live here now?"

"We live here now."

"But we'll still go back to Seattle."

"Yeah, I think we will. But even if we don't … we'll all four be together. No matter where we go. You got it?"

A smile lights up Zola's face. "Yeah, I got it."

"Good girl." Meredith holds out her hand. "Now. Bath time."

"No, I want a shower!"

"You got it, big girl." She feels a little pang at this reminder that their daughter is growing up.

…

With both children bathed and Derek having set up the pack 'n' play, Meredith turns to Zola.

"Bailey's going to nap in here, Zozo, but you don't have to sleep if you're not tired, you can just have quiet –" but when she looks down Zola has disappeared, apparently having hoisted herself over the ege of the pack 'n' play.

Her brother yells with delight.

"Oh, sweetie, that's too small for you. That's just for Bailey, and you have a big girl bed, see, a cot." She points to the small foldable bed a bellhop brought up a few minutes earlier.

"No, I like it in here. Put Bailey in with me."

Zola holds out her arms.

"I don't know, honey, it's going to be very tight."

"Yes, yes, yes!" Bailey tugs at Meredith's hair. "Zozo." He points, grinning.

"Okay, two against one," Meredith says, and as the words slip out, the teasing reference she often makes, she realizes that it's not true.

"Not anymore," Derek says softly, as if he's read her mind.

"Okay – get comfy in there and see if it's too tight."

"Good," Bailey says, one of his favorite words, sweet and agreeable little boy he can be. "Good, Mama."

They curl into each other like puppies and Meredith and Derek both take a minute to enjoy how adorable they are before dimming the lights.

"So." Derek turns to her when they're in the bedroom, Meredith closing the door behind her.

"So," she repeats. "I packed a baby monitor."

"Always prepared. Which one of us was an Eagle Scout again?"

"That would be you," Meredith smiles. "But _I_ was a latchkey kid without pretty much no supervision … which is kind of similar when you think about it."

She props the monitor up and for a moment they watch both children snuggled up close together.

"That means it's naptime for us too?" Derek looks hopeful.

"That means it's talking time."

"Right." Derek looks at the bed. "We can…"

"No. We can't talk and do anything else. I don't trust myself," Meredith admits. "So just – sit over there, and I'll sit over here, and all our clothes are staying on."

"All our clothes are staying on," he repeats, sinking down on the chair she indicates.

"Right." Meredith perches on the edge of the chaise. "So. Speaking of clothes staying on … it's time to tell me why that woman answered your phone."

"I left it behind in the office. I don't know why she picked it up."

"And she's your research fellow."

"She's my research fellow," he says patiently.

"Yes, but see, I know how this works. I was your resident."

"This is different."

"And nothing happened."

"Meredith…"

"Don't. Don't finish this sentence. I'm here, Derek, and I'm not going anywhere, but you have to be honest with me. I'm going to ask you one more time if anything happened and I need you to tell me. Whatever it is we can handle it, okay? Whatever it is we can get through it. But I asked what happened between you and I'd rather your answer is freakin' reverse cowgirl than _nothing_ if reverse cowgirl is the truth!"

She breaks off, feeling a little embarrassed. Derek is looking down at the carpet.

"There was no reverse cowgirl," he says finally.

"Good."

"But it wasn't nothing." He raises his eyes to meet hers and they look dark with pain. "She kissed me," he says quietly. "And that was all, and I let her, for a second, before I stopped it – and that was all. Meredith, I'm so sorry."

"Okay." She nods slowly. "Okay." A part of her was expecting this, or worse, but she still feels the air has been sucked from her lungs, and she takes a minute just to try to breathe."

"I wish I could take it back. I was stupid, and lonely, and …"

"And I wasn't here," Meredith prompts.

"It's not your fault," he says quickly. "It's all my fault."

She studies the pattern on the chaise for a moment. "Thank you for telling me," she says finally.

He looks surprised. "Meredith …"

"We're not done talking," she adds. "We're just getting started. But I'm here now."

"You're here," he says softly. "And you're … staying?"

"And I'm staying. We're all staying. All four of us together."

"All four of us together," he repeats, and she sees the pain recede from his eyes.

 _And there it is. Simplicity. Because just like how simple things can turn complex – complex things can turn simple. So I guess that means if you meet someone who makes you feel that way – whose hand you hold, whose children you bear, and whose touch you crave, whose mind expands yours and vice versa – then even when things feel complicated and difficult … maybe you should both try like hell to hang on._

 _It's really just that simple._

* * *

 ** _TBC (of course)._ They have a lot more to talk about, but progress will start! Next time: a way to move forward. _Pretty please review and let me know what you think - it will definitely help me get the next chapter up faster!_**


	4. paper and pen

**A/N: _Thank you_** _for all the great feedback!_ This _chapter is dedicated to Patsy, who is such a generous reader and reviewer that she's even checked out my non MerDer stories. Thank you, Patsy! Here's some full-on MerDer to show my appreciation for your excellent readership and your open mind. If the rest of you guys are happy to see another chapter of Trailblazing tonight, you should thank Patsy too! Hope you enjoy..._

* * *

 **.. Paper and Pen ..**

* * *

 _When you're a kid, the last thing you want to do is follow the rules. Rules are there to get in the way of all the fun you could have without them. Remember how it went?_

 _Rules were the opposite of what you wanted. Clean up your room? Sure, if you want to destroy the castle you spent hours building with bristle blocks. No sweets after you brush your teeth? So if gumdrops just fall from the sky you're supposed to shake your head and refuse. You can forget your prized Halloween candy. And don't even get me started about waiting half an hour after you eat to get back in the ocean._

 _Rules … are the absolute worst. They really are._

 _Until they're not._

"We need to set some rules."

"Rules?" Derek blinks. From his expression, Meredith can guess that he assumed the answers to his plaintive questions, _what should we do, what do you want, what can I do,_ would be more abstract.

She pads over to her carry-on bag and removes the little frame, wrapped carefully in one of her t-shirts to protect the glass. Derek is watching her.

"You brought the post it," he says softly.

"I brought the post it." She sets it on the bedside table. "And I brought this, too."

Derek looks at what's in her hand. "Pink pony paper?"

"It's Zola's," Meredith admits. "As is the pen that goes with it, but the point is…" and she uncaps the sparkly silver pen.

"The point is, you brought paper."

"Right."

"And a pen."

"Right."

"Post-it Take Two? Amended Post-It"

"There's only one post-it," she says quietly. "We're not changing it."

"Addendum, then."

She nods, silver gel hovering over the pink paper. Smiling pink ponies in tiaras are marching up and down the border of the pad.

Derek is sitting across from her, at a chaste distance, looking very serious, and very present.

"I want to go to marriage counseling," she says.

"You do?" He looks genuinely surprised.

"I do."

"It, uh, it didn't work so well the last time," he confesses; he looks embarrassed, even sad, and she knows that as much as their family has healed him, there will always be a twinge of guilt for what a perfectionist can only see as an initial failure.

"This isn't last time," Meredith reminds him firmly.

"It's not. I know. Mer … you know that too, right?"

He looks worried, and she smiles gently to reassure him. "I wouldn't' be here if I didn't know that."

He looks relieved.

"But that doesn't mean we don't have to put in the work."

"You're right." He pauses. "Meredith … speaking of the last time …"

She can tell he's referring to her opening line in his office earlier.

 _And you must be the woman who answered my husband's phone._

"Oh, right. Well … you can't deny she's got style."

Derek's mouth twitches with amusement.

"The point is … marriage counseling means someone better than us at … the talking thing … will help us."

"We're good at the talking thing," he says indignantly.

"Derek." She looks at him. "We're good at the surgery thing, we're good at the sex thing-"

"Great," he interrupts.

"-fine, we're great at the sex thing, we're kind of surprisingly good at the parenting thing and I'm not saying we're not good at the marriage thing but – we're not so good at the talking thing."

He nods slowly, and she writes on the pad:

 _Get help when we need it._

She holds it up to show it to him and he nods again.

"Derek," she pauses before changing topics, "whatever's going on with that woman-"

"Nothing's going on," he says hastily, "Meredith, I told you everything that-"

"All I mean is that has to be it with her. Done. Finished. No more fellowship, no more … working together."

"But she's on the project," he says helplessly.

"Well, _off_ her, then." Meredith sighs. "You used to make a habit of opening up people's skulls and poking around in their brains, Derek, when every other surgeon had given up. I think you can come up with a plan to relocate one little fellow without too much effort."

"You're right. You're right, and I can. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Just do it."

"I will."

"Good. Because we have to be strong, Derek, before we can be strong for the kids. It's no good just to be parents; we have to be us too." She scrawls another rule and holds it up.

 _Us first._

"Us first," he reads. "Yes. Us first."

"On that note … we need a place to live."

He nods.

"A place that's not a hotel room or – an apartment that looks like a hotel room." She glances at the generic décor. "Zola asked me if we were separating."

He looks stricken. "Mer-"

"Not in so many words," she says hastily, "but apparently she thought I brought her and Bailey to DC to leave them with you."

He exhales audibly; his hands are clenching his thighs and to someone who doesn't know him as well as Meredith does, he might look angry.

He's not.

He's trying, with everything he has, not to touch her. Because she asked him not to, because she asked for distance while they talked. Because their clothes are staying on. Because even though he's desperate to reassure her and for his own comfort, and physical touch has always done both for both of them, he's going to respect her wishes.

The effort it's taking him to fulfill her request – and the fact that he's doing it anyway – touches her. She swallows hard. "Derek. It's okay. I explained it to her, and … it was news to me. If I thought that was where her head was, I would have explained it to her a lot earlier."

He nods slightly, watching as she writes something else on the pad.

 _Home means all four of us together._

His eyes are shining when he looks up again. "Zola thought we were living apart?"

"She was worried, but it's okay," Meredith says hastily. "I talked to her. And we can talk to her more. We _should_ talk to her more," Meredith amends, "together."

"Together," he echoes.

"Yeah." She runs a finger along the pattern on the hotel bed's comforter. Like everything in the room, it's generic. Pale blue and green interlocking diamonds. Or is it burgundy and grey? Every time she looks, she forgets. It's that unmemorable. "Together. Which brings me to my next point."

"Your next rule."

"My next rule." She takes a deep breath. "We have dinner. All of us."

"Dinner. That's good." His eyes widen when he takes in her meaning. "Every night?"

"Every night," she says firmly. "You're not going to get paged, Derek, you won't be on call, and you're not operating. And neither am I, not yet at least. Not for a while and maybe not ever so yes, dinner. Every night. Seriously."

"I don't know any families who have dinner together every night," he protests, and she knows he doesn't mean he doesn't want to; he's Derek, he's looking for reassurance that the fact that _their_ family doesn't isn't a failure on his part.

"That's because you know way too many surgeons," she says gently.

"Yeah." He looks down at his hands.

"Derek." She waits for him to look up. "This isn't criticism, okay? I'm not blaming you and I'm not trying to make you feel guilty. I just want to move forward."

"I know." But he looks relieved, grateful even. "I know. I want that too. It's just – different."

"Different from what we did in Seattle?"

He nods.

"I know that. Derek, I don't want to recapture what we had in Seattle. That was then. And it was good. It was great. But now we're here – and we can be even better. _That's_ what I want. Maybe you'll go back to work after dinner, sometimes, if things are hectic or you're pushing something out. Same for me, when I figure out where I'll work. But dinner, fork in plate or, for the kids, hands in plate – that's family time. That's our time."

"Dinner," he repeats, but he sounds convinced this time. "Okay."

She writes it on the pad:

 _Dinner together, all four of us, every night._

"Meredith, what about your job?"

"What about it?"

"You were afraid I didn't value you work. You – we fought about it," he admits, "but I do value it and you need to work. Your career is at a crucial point-"

"My career will always be at a crucial point. My family won't."

"What are you saying? You don't want to work?" He looks puzzled. "You?"

She smiles at his confusion. "Of course I want to work."

"You're still you. Good." He smiles back at her. "I'll call my contact, the one who arranged-"

"No," she says quickly. "I mean, maybe, down the line but I want to take a little time first – see if there's something here I want to do more. I want what I do to mean something and I want it to be the right choice. I don't want time away from our family for something I don't care about. I want to want it. I want to _love_ it."

He reaches for the pen; they're two arms' lengths away but she stretches out to hand it to him, along with their pad. Their fingertips brush lightly and she has to draw a shaky breath.

She takes it back carefully when he's done; he's written:

 _Do what we love, at home and at work_

She nods. "I like it. And I want Zola to go to school – even if it's just for a few months. She needs to meet people here. She needs community. She gave things up when she left Seattle, too."

He gestures at the pad.

"That's not a rule, really, just – an idea."

"Okay. And Bailey? Zola needs community, but what about Bailey?"

"Bailey needs you," she says simply. "Derek, I'm not saying this to hurt you, or because I think you don't love him because I know you do, but Bailey is so tiny, so _new_ , and he hasn't had enough time with you. He needs to get to know you again. Zola – she remembers everything, she talks about you constantly when you're not there, but Bailey's so little."

Derek is silent, pain flickering in his eyes; she knew it would hurt him, even if it wasn't her intent, but she had to say it, and she has to stick to it. For Bailey's sake. For Bailey's sake … and for Derek's.

"Derek." Her tone is gentle. "You are a great father. I know that and you know that I know that. But just think about how much time you had with Zola when she was Bailey's age. She was our whole world. Bailey deserves that too. Or – as much as he can get when we have two kids now."

"You're right." A fond smile warms his face. "Time with Bailey, alone – you're right, and you've got it."

"And we need time for all four of us."

"Dinner," he agrees.

"Yes, dinner. But." She pauses. "Your hours, Derek…"

"…could be very reasonable," he says, "they could. I've just been working a lot because, well … because there was nothing to come home to," he admits after a long pause.

"But now there is."

"But now there is. I still need to put in hours," he says hesitantly, "I want this so much, these answers, and it's not just ego, Meredith. I … know you must think …"

"Derek, I know that. I know how much you want to make progress in the field, so you can help people. I still know you, even if I've been missing you. Working is fine. Working is good. But no surgeons' hours."

"No surgeons' hours," he agrees. "We're not surgeons here."

She knew that, but the words still stun her, just a bit.

"You could be," he says hastily, "I mean, if that's what you want, when you're looking for work here, if that's what's calling you-"

"We're not surgeons here," she confirms, "but we're still us."

"We're still us."

 _We're still us._

With some finality, she rips the sheet of pink pony-embossed stationery from the pad and holds it up.

Derek raises his eyebrows. "Ready to sign?"

"Ready to sign."

They take turns and then she props it up against the table lamp.

Derek looks like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders and she thinks she must look the same way. "The conversation isn't over just because we signed," she reminds him.

"No," he agrees, "no, the talking part … is just beginning."

"And so are we." She smiles softly. "Part Two, DC."

How long Part Two will last and where their next chapter will be remains to be seen, of course, but Part Two? That's right here. Right now.

Derek is looking at her intently. "Part Two," he echoes, "here we go."

There's a small sound from the baby monitor just then and Meredith picks it up to see that Bailey has flopped onto his back and is using his sister's forehead as an armrest; it can't exactly be comfortable but both children still seem to be fast asleep, snuggled close and breathing deeply.

Derek glances toward the green screen he can't see. "Still out?"

"Like lights," she confirms, setting the monitor back.

Derek is gripping the sides of his chair with both hands like he's afraid to stand up.

"But we're, um, we're still keeping our clothes on," he says tentatively, his voice mournful but willing.

She lifts an eyebrow. "Is that what you want?"

His mouth twitches and he seems to be considering his words carefully. "I want to follow the rules."

She steps forward until she's only a few steps from him; this close, the familiar scent of him wafts toward her and she could reach out and touch him, if she wanted. "You really do?"

"I really do," he says.

She extends her hand; he grips it and then he's on his feet, closing the gap between them.

She releases his hand and then her palm rises to touch the side of his face; it's rough and smooth all at once, the textures lighting up her skin. His hands twitch at his sides with the force of keeping them to himself and she smiles, just a little; it's not mean-spirited, not at all.

Frankly, she's impressed.

She draws closer and takes his hand back into her free one. It feels warm, she's already memorized its shape and she tilts her head back to look right into his eyes as she moves his hand to her hip. There's a question on his face; she answers it without words, just lips, and he sighs relief into her mouth.

 _What's that other thing they say about rules?_

It's electric between them. Always. Pinpricks of light are bursting behind her eyes as his hands do no more than lightly trace her ribs, igniting feathery fire under each fingertip. God, she's missed the feel of him.

 _You know, the thing they say. About rules?_

She can't think. She can't think when he's touching her like this, all she can do is slide her hands into his hair and bring her lips to meet his again, letting him lift her until there's nothing separating them at all.

 _Oh yeah, now I remember. Some rules … some rules are just meant to be broken._

* * *

 ** _to be continued, of course. PSA_** _\- please spread the word. I really think that commentariat can and should be supportive; otherwise, what's the point of all this? Please don't leave rude messages on my or anyone else's stories complaining about ships. That goes for fans of Addek, Maddison, MerDer, Nathan/Owen, and AddEle (that's a new ship I made up, Addison/Adele, but you get the point). Let's just enjoy the fact that more than a decade later, this fandom is still this active!_

 _Now. That out of the way, who wants to see this scene continue - and who would rather move on a more family-friendly one? Majority rule, methinks... ;-) Review, pretty please!_


	5. questions and answers

**A/N:** To my awesome trailblazers, you have been so patient and so lovely and here is an extra-long chapter that you well deserve. I hope it's worth the wait. It jumps around in time just a bit, but should be mostly self-explanatory. Thank you again for being such wonderful readers, and I hope you enjoy!

* * *

.. Questions and Answers ..

* * *

 _As a surgeon, you have to get used to answering questions. Fast._

 _You answer questions … pretty much all day. Starting when your internship does, you're in the hot seat._

 _Every day. All day._

 _Some of the questions are more difficult to answer than others. Then there are some that are simple, but they're still hard: Will I get better? Will my loved one survive? Some of them, sometimes, are easier._

 _And then some of them …_

"Let's start by talking about what drew each of you to the other one," the counselor suggests with a friendly smile.

… _some of them are just plain awkward._

"Meredith, why don't you go first."

"Um." Meredith sits up a little straighter on the plush couch, glancing next to her. Derek's posture is also rigid, but she can see from the line next to his mouth that he's trying not to laugh.

She can feel her cheeks flushing as she imagines the other couples the marriage counselor has seen. They must say things like _his intellect_ or _all of his accomplishments_ or _the way he was kind to animals_ or …

Anything but what she's going to have to say.

Meredith looks nervously at Derek, who thankfully steps in.

"We met … unexpectedly," he tells the counselor, who nods.

"Go on."

"It was kind of ... in a bar," Meredith adds.

"Kind of?"

"Yeah. Well, no. It was actually in a bar," she admits.

The counselor nods. She looks neutral, not judgmental at all, which is … nice.

"And in the bar … what drew you to Derek?"

"Tequila," Meredith offers.

She laughs and then Derek does too.

"I'm sorry," he says quickly. "We do take this seriously."

"We do. Seriously," Meredith echoes.

The counselor doesn't look fazed. "Why are you apologizing?"

"Because we're laughing," Meredith says, confused. "And we're supposed to be … marriage counseling."

"On the contrary, laughter is an important part of marriage. If you can laugh with each other … and laugh with yourselves … that's a good thing."

Meredith considers this.

"So you met in a bar…" the counselor prompts encouragingly. "But something must have drawn you to each other in the bar. Not just tequila," she smiles, "because there were plenty of other people there drinking, I would imagine, and I don't think you married any others, or had children with them?"

"No, I didn't."

"Ah." The counselor smiles. "So, Derek…"

"He had a red shirt," she blurts.

"She had a black dress," Derek counters.

Both are them are silent for a moment. "But it was more than that," Meredith adds just as Derek says: "But it wasn't just the dress."

Meredith turns to see Derek's eyes twinkling.

It's a relief to know laughter is good for marriage.

Because they're already doing more of it.

..

"Homework?"

"Homework," the counselor nods as she brings the session to a close. "Your assignment, before we meet again, is one family activity outside the … home," she says tactfully instead of _hotel_ , "and one date night. That's just the two of you," she adds.

"Childcare," Meredith says faintly. The counselor's clinic has a bright, appealing daycare room that's allowing them this time, but they won't be able to use it for date night.

"You have to find childcare sometime," the counselor says, smiling. "If it helps, my assistant keeps a list of reputable agencies in the area."

"I liked her," Derek says when they close the office door behind them.

"Even with the homework?"

"Even with the homework."

They discuss the timing as they walk toward the clinic's childcare room.

"I can take tomorrow off. For our … family activity homework."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. And our … date," Derek says. "When do you-"

"Thursday."

"Thursday?"

She's not sure why she picked Thursday. It just seemed right, so she nods.

"We'll need to find someone to watch the kids."

"We can do that."

Zola hugs her around the waist when they open the door to the daycare room and Bailey jumps into Derek's arms.

"You came back so _fast_!" Zola enthuses and Meredith feels Derek's arm around her, warm and comforting.

He must have noticed the expression on her face at Zola's words.

…

 _Some questions aren't easy or hard, they're just not meant to be answered._

 _They're more … rhetorical._

"Derek … did you _know_ DC was an actual swamp when you moved here?"

She glares at him, or tries to, but she can't help laughing. First of all, she likes the way _moved here_ sounds. And second of all … it's hard to take anything too seriously with mud spattered from hip to ankle.

Zola, who insisted to an amused sales associate at District Trek that she was the fastest hiker in the family and would not caught dead in a carrier like Bailey's, is as muddy as her mother, and luckily very amused by it.

Only Bailey, secured to Derek's back, is clean as a whistle, his little green sunhat free from mud.

"Is it quicksand?" Zola looks from her mother to her father with alarm. "Like in Captain Jack and the Sinking Treasure?"

"It's not quicksand," Meredith assures Zola immediately, then leans closer to Derek to whisper: "Right?"

Bailey chooses that moment to snatch his sunhat off his head and hurl it into the mud.

How did they get here?

It all started with their homework assignment. No … it started with a little pink pony pad, and _then_ it started with their homework assignment.

It started with family activity day.

…

Family activity day dawns hot and humid with no promise of relief from either.

Zola is jumping on the bed, and Bailey is trying to as well, but Zola's more powerful jumps keep knocking him down. Meredith would ask Zo to slow down and give him an opportunity to jump, but Bailey's hysterical laughter every time he falls suggests he's enjoying it.

"You're _really_ not going to work?" Zola looks back and forth between her parents.

"Not today," Derek says.

"But what you're doing is really important. It's going to help sick people." Zola's parroting what Meredith used to remind her in Seattle when she asked why her father was working so far away. When she said she missed him.

"That's true." Derek sits down on the side of the bed and takes Zola on his lap. "But what I do with you, and your mom, and your brother, is more important."

"It is?"

"It is." He kisses the tip of her nose.

"Is that why we all live together now?"

Meredith feels her throat tightening and she can tell from the glimmer in Derek's eyes that he feels the same way.

"That's right." He holds Zola tightly for a moment and then releases her. "But … this is just a hotel. We need to find somewhere to live."

"A house!" She grins broadly, then a pensive look comes over her face.

"What is it, sweetie?"

"I like our house in Seattle."

"Me too, Zozo. I love our house in Seattle." Derek smiles at her. "That's still our home. But while we're here … we need another home."

"I think you're only supposed to have one _home_ ," Zola says. "That's what makes it home."

"I disagree."

Zola is standing up now, and Derek draws her between his knees. " _Home_ is wherever the four of us are together. So right now, it's here, in DC."

Zola considers this. "What if the four of us are in a car, driving? Is that our home?"

Meredith smiles. "She may have you there."

"I've lived in a trailer. I can live in a car."

"I don't want to live in a car," Zola says hurriedly.

"Daddy's just being silly." Meredith lifts Bailey to her hip, preparing to go change him. "About the car, I mean. The rest … the rest isn't silly."

Zola considers this. "Will we live in a house?"

"I think that sounds like a good idea." Derek feigns confusion. "I wonder who can help Mommy and me find the perfect house for us."

"I can!" Zola beams.

"Oh, good." He stands up and tosses Zola in the air; she squeals in response. "I have a feeling you'll find us the perfect one."

Meredith corrals Derek on his way to fix breakfast for Bailey.

"You're really taking the whole day off?"

He nods. " _Do what we love at home and at work,_ " he recites. "And you three are what I love."

"Don't be dreamy when the kids are awake. Be dreamy when they're asleep."

"I'm not a machine," he teases her.

Over breakfast, they agree to house hunt this weekend and to spend family activity day outdoors.

In the heat.

And the humidity.

"It will be great," Derek assures her hastily. "I found a bunch of family friendly trails. Somewhat bashfully, he shows her a book.

 _The Active Family's Guide to the DMV._

"Are we buying a car?"

He laughs. " _DMV_ as in DC, Maryland, Virginia. Not Department of Motor Vehicles."

"Oh." She pauses. "That seems unnecessarily confusing."

"Take it up with the founding fathers." He opens the book to a tape-flagged page. "Check out this one."

"You marked up hikes," she says. "Before we got here."

"I marked up hikes." He pauses. "Is that bad?"

"It's not bad. It's good. It's very good." She touches his cheek. "You knew we were coming."

"I hoped you were coming," he corrects her. "Hoping isn't the same as knowing."

 _But sometimes it is,_ she thinks.

…

"… and that's why ended up in a swamp."

"Mer, who are you talking to?"

"The universe," she says. "Whoever's listening. Anyone who might be considering hiking in a swamp."

"It's not a _swamp,_ " he says with dignity, and Meredith is about to answer him when she sees the path that he's –

"Derek!"

But it's too late. To Bailey's delight, Derek walks straight into a patch of swinging, muddy leaves.

Their son is finally as muddy as the rest of them. They match, Zola and Meredith hand in hand, Bailey grinning from his perch in the backpack carrier attached to his father.

"Maybe we should have taken the rail trail," Derek allows.

"And miss all this mud?" Meredith smiles, then leans up to kiss him.

"Don't, you'll –"

"I don't mind," she assures him. "Plus, rail trails are no fun."

"Too easy," Zola scoffs, and Meredith thinks their daughter might have spent too much time showing her swagger to the man who sold them their newly minted DC hiking gear. Their daughter looks adorable in the brightly colored moisture-wicking top and bottoms, though, so Meredith can't really complain.

Meredith looks up at the hazy sky. The trail they chose wasn't exactly easy. It's the longest one around the strange little island, where some long-dead politician or other used to have an estate. It's low down, deep in the swampy parts of the island, and they're long past the glorious views of the Potomac, recognizable downtown DC beyond … now they're, well … in the mud.

"Daddy, look!" Zola is poking at the soft ground with one of her little sneakers. "Quicksand!"

"It's not quicksand, sweetie. It's just good old fashioned mud."

"Why is there so much mud here?"

"Because it's a swamp," Meredith says cheerily, ducking when Derek reaches for her with one muddy hand.

"Swamps are cool," Zola decides as she tromps between her parents.

"Derek … there's no one else on this trail."

"It's a weekday."

"It's a swamp," Zola adds.

"Who's side are you on?" Derek teases.

"We're all on the same side," Meredith reminds him. "The side where – Zo!"

She's slipped on the slick ground.

"Are you okay?" Meredith kneels in the mud without a second thought to check on her.

"I'm good." Zola sits up, her brightly colored clothes mostly mud now, and reaches for her –

"Don't rub your face," Meredith advises. Wiping off her own hand she tilts Zola's chin. "Did you bump anything?"

"No. I'm _tough_ ," Zola reminds her.

"You certainly are." Meredith helps her to her feet and glares at Derek when he starts laughing.

"What?"

"Nothing," he says, forcing the smile off his face. "It's just … I'm not sure I'd recognize either one of you under all that mud."

"Yeah, you would."

"You're right … I would."

And they're off again along the muddy trail.

…

"We did it," Meredith says when they've staggered exhausted through the door of the hotel. They shed their mud-spattered outerwear quickly in the tiled foyer and then split up the kids for emergency bathing. "We actually did it. The whole trail."

"We did it," Derek echoes when they're actually clean, Bailey's hair blond again, everyone's fingernails a much more passable color. He smiles at her. "I haven't said this in a while, but … we're almost done with our homework."

"Alll we have left is to find a babysitter for Thursday," she reminds him, keeping her voice low so she doesn't startle the kids.

"Already started. The concierge has bonded sitters. We can interview one in the morning."

Meredith closes her eyes briefly, imagining a mud-free dinner. Maybe some candles, a glass of something that's not milk …

"It was _so_ fun when we hiked. Can we do it again?" Zola is beaming.

"We absolutely can. Very soon. Just … maybe a little more neatly," Derek suggests.

"Being neat is no fun." Zola climbs onto the couch and starts jumping.

"Zozo, we have neighbors underneath us," Derek reminds her.

She looks confused.

"They can hear you jumping."

She looks neutral now.

"And they might not want to." Derek laughs, seemingly in spite of himself. "I can't imagine why, though," he adds when Zola flashes a smile in return.

Derek glances at his blackberry. "I should …"

"Go ahead."

She appreciates the time he's taken off; isolating him from his work was never the goal. She takes the kids to get ready for bed.

Meredith loves toothbrushing time.

There's something … honest, easy to talk, about this time. Zola and Bailey are sitting side by side of the thankfully wide lip of the bathtub, Meredith on the closed toilet seat, for all the world like the counselor to their adorable brother-and-sister union. _How does that make you feel?_ She could ask.

… but the setup doesn't last long; Bailey loves brushing his teeth like a big boy, mimicking his older sister's routine with impressive enthusiasm, but most of the toothpaste ends up on his face or sometimes, inexplicably, in his hair. Meredith usually lets him do it himself for a few minutes and then takes over. Once he's situated on her lap and she's brushing, holding his head in her hand, Zola takes the toothbrush out of her own mouth.

"Mommy?"

"Yes, Zo?"

"I kind of miss our house."

"Yeah?" Meredith shifts her grip on a wriggling Bailey, who doesn't appreciate her attention to his little cuspids – which she knows for an unfortunate fact are quite sharp. "I do too," Meredith says, and Zola looks at her with interest. "What do you miss about it, sweetie?"

"My room," Zola says immediately. She brushes her teeth with a few more flourishes, then adds, "and your room."

"My room too?" Meredith stands with Bailey in her arms to help him rinse, taking a moment to wrestle the toothbrush gently from his alarmingly strong mouth.

"Yeah. Like when me and Bailey come in and …" Zola waves her little hands in an illustration of a classic cuddle pile.

"It's not the same here, but we're all here, so there's no reason why we can't … " Meredith makes the same gesture with her free hand and Zola giggles.

"But we're not going to live here forever, Zozo."

"I know." Zola rinses and spits on her own, then bares her little teeth to inspect them.

"Ooh, sparkling," Meredith praises her. "We're going to move somewhere that's a … house," she assures her daughter. "And you'll have your own room."

"I will?"

"Definitely."

"Mommy … can I have bunk beds in my new room?"

Meredith envisions Bailey scaling the side of a bunk bed and crashing to the floor. "Um … let's see what Daddy thinks about that," she deflects.

…

If toothbrushing is surprisingly enjoyable, pre-bed stories are just flat-out enjoyable. Both kids are clean and dressed in their pajamas, snuggled between their parents and nicely sharing the job of turning pages.

"I like when you both put us to bed," Zola says. "Bailey does too," she adds. She pats her little brother's leg. "Right?"

Bailey pops the pacifier they can't quite bring themselves to take away out of his little mouth. "Right," he says quite distinctly, and then sticks it back in.

Meredith and Derek exchange a look. This highly unusual work schedule … or lack of work schedule … has felt strange to both of them, she knows.

It doesn't seem to feel strange to the kids, though. They like it.

She studies the hand that's holding the book open, her hand that she spent years and tens – no, hundreds – of thousands of dollars training.

She'll cut again. She knows she will.

What did the counselor say? _Take each day as it comes._

It must count for the nights, too. And for tonight … her hands are right where they're supposed to be.

…

"Bailey's down?"

Derek nods. Zola fell asleep first, Bailey protesting his new environs until Derek walked him enough loops in the darkened living room to settle him down. He closes the door and flicks on the baby monitor.

"Ah … sleeping babies."

Meredith looks over his shoulder. Stretched out on her little cot, Zola doesn't look much like a baby anymore, and she has a pang.

"Zo's out." Derek follows Meredith's gaze. "Then again … she did a lot more hiking than Bailey did."

Meredith smiles, recalling Zola's fierce determination on the trail. Even with the mud, the mosquitoes, the humidity …

"That was the best homework I've ever done," she says out loud.

She glances at Derek. He doesn't necessarily look like he agrees.

 _Questions take guts, sometimes. If you're not sure you want to know the answer._

"Don't you think?"

"It was pretty great," Derek says. "But _best_ … I don't know."

 _Some answers just give you more questions._

"Ask me Thursday night," he says with a grin, and tackles her to the bed, her laughter muffled in his shoulder.

 _And some answers … give you everything you need._

* * *

 ** _To be continued._ So. Worth the wait? Review and let me know!**

 **PS I love DC, I do, and a little mud never hurt anyone. :)**


	6. houses and homes

**A/N: Hola trailblazers!** Thank you so much for the reviews and comments and for sticking with this story even when I'm a slowpoke. (Especially Patsy, who never lets this story drop off my radar ... and is a rockstar ... so it never will!) Here's another big chunk of a chapter. And to the anonymous reviewer who thinks this story is depressing … you should probably stay away from my other stories, because this one is a bed of roses compared to my usual!

In all seriousness, though, I don't see anything depressing about taking steps to protect your marriage or your family, or making a change to support your spouse's career. Derek was prepared to move to Boston, even if temporarily, for Meredith's career. Meredith, in this story, is prepared to move to DC, even if temporarily, for Derek's career. Marriage is a give and take. Spouses support each other's careers and sometimes one of them has to come first; usually, the other one moves to the front seat the next time. I've seen lots of couples make these decisions, or plan for them, and I've never found it depressing in the least.

…but maybe that's just me. Enjoy the chapter!

* * *

 **.. Houses and Homes ..**

* * *

 _Separation anxiety._

 _Stranger danger._

 _Fear of the unknown._

 _It has lots of names. But in your peds rotation, you learn that babies don't start out scared of new people. In the beginning, in infancy, when they're just little lumps, anyone can meet their biological needs. But then later … they decide who they know. Who their people are. And for everyone else, there's anxiety._

 _The thing is, it takes a while to develop that fear, but once the fear is developed, it's in place – and it takes a whole lot longer to develop the only thing that can treat it._

"No, I don't want you to go!"

"Zozo," Derek says, sounding surprised. He sits down in the rolling desk chair and takes her on his lap. "You know we're coming back in just a few hours."

 _The treatment? It may be just one thing, but it's not a simple thing._

"I know you're coming back," Zola says, tears in her voice.

 _The treatment ... is trust._

"Then what's the matter, sweetie?"

"Nothing," she says, fiddling with the ends of his tie. "I just don't want you to go out, that's all."

Meredith, who has been coaxing Bailey not to ignore his peas in favor of his plums, is surprised too. Zola's used to watching them come and go and rarely fusses.

She glances over at Derek, who shrugs slightly in her direction as if to say he doesn't know what's bothering her either.

"Zo," Derek says gently. "Is there something you're worried about?"

"I don't know her," Zola says quietly.

"The babysitter?"

She nods.

"You haven't met her yet," Derek agrees, "but Mommy did, when you and I were getting ice cream the other day, and Mommy liked her."

"I did," Meredith confirms from the kitchen area.

"And Mommy is a very good judge of character."

Meredith finishes wiping Bailey's face and carries him over on her hip. "She's coming in a few minutes, Zozo, and we're not going to leave until you feel comfortable, okay?"

"What if I don't feel comfortable _ever_?" Zola challenges.

 _Okay, why don't they have a chapter in Spock for getting outsmarted by your grade schooler?_

Not that she's read Spock … but it's the principle of the thing.

"I think you're going to feel comfortable," Derek says smoothly, smiling at Zola, "and-"

A knock on the door interrupts

Zola clings to her father's neck. "Don't go."

Meredith shifts Bailey, who is toying serenely with her necklace, satisfied by his dinner and unconcerned about – or at least unaware of – his parents' impending departure.

"It's okay, sweetie." Derek gives Zola a reassuring smile, but when he turns to Meredith his eyes are pained.

She gets the sense he's feeling more than Zola's anxiety now – that he's wondering if his frequent flights in and out of her life the last few months have something to do with her uncharacteristically nervous reaction.

And blaming himself.

Meredith opens the door with Bailey on her hip.

"Mrs. Rollins," she greets the older woman with a smile.

The babysitter is thin and wiry, with grey hair in a bun and twinkling blue eyes. There was a sense of fun in those eyes that appealed to Meredith when she was interviewing babysitters. All the potential babysitters were bonded, all experienced, and all kind … this one, though, seemed like she might bring something else.

"I remember this little man." The babysitter smiles at Bailey, then turns to the office chair where their daughter is still sitting on Derek's lap.

"And _you_ must be Zola. Hello there."

"Hi," Zola says softly, apparently not able to squelch her natural friendliness despite her anxiety, but she keeps one hand clenched in Derek's shirt.

Meredith moves a few steps closer to the baby-sitter, feeling she has to explain Zola's reticence. What had she said during their meeting? _My daughter loves everyone, she never had any issues in daycare or extracurriculars, she's had plenty of experience being baby-sat._

"She's feeling a little uneasy," Meredith says quietly.

Mrs. Rollins seems utterly unbothered. "I'll just set this bag down, then. It's a bit heavy."

Meredith nods, and watches the babysitter place her quilted handbag down on the table. She pulls out a white cardboard game box and sets it down.

"Twister?" Zola asks doubtfully. Meredith can see she's thinking the babysitter is too old for a game that requires flexibility, but she's too polite to say so.

"Oh, don't be fooled by the grey hair, young lady." Mrs. Rollins winks at Zola, apparently not fooled by her good manners. "I'm a certified yoga instructor with a thousand hours of training. If you're very good," she pauses, "I might even stand on my head for you."

"You can stand on your head?" Zola asks eagerly, lifting her own head from Derek's shoulder.

"Oh, I make a habit of it. Every morning." Mrs. Rollins smiles. "Do you like tumbling?"

"Yeah. I want to take gymnastics really bad but my dad won't let me," Zola says mournfully.

"I'm sitting right here," Derek reminds his daughter with feigned offense, poking her gently in the ribs. "Directly underneath you, in fact. I'm your chair."

"You're not a chair, Daddy," Zola giggles, seeming to forget her sadness from earlier, then pats his arm. "So … can I take gymnastics?"

"No," Derek says.

"See?" Zola turns to Mrs. Rollins.

The older woman lifts her hands innocently. "Well, then I think you have no choice but to take up hula-hooping. It's a good thing I brought one with me."

"Where?" Zola looks back and forth from the babysitter's canvas bag, far too small to hold a hoop, to her hands. "I don't see a hoop."

"Right here." Mrs. Rollins holds out a bright pink nylon bag about the size of a ruler.

Zola's eyes widen. "You squished a hoop in there?"

"I took a hoop _apart_ in there."

"Can I see?"

"Sure." Mrs. Rollins holds out the bag. Zola glances at her father, who nods encouragingly, and she slides off his lap and trots over to the babysitter.

"It's working," Meredith murmurs to Derek in quiet singsong on her way to finish changing in the bedroom. Mrs. Rollins, Zola, and Bailey are all sitting on the carpet in the living room now with pieces of a brightly colored hula hoop spread out around them.

"This one in here?" Zola holds up two pieces.

"Try them and see," the babysitter suggests.

"It fits!"

"Good work, Zola."

"Me too," Bailey says.

Mrs. Rollins hands him the bag with great fanfare and he beams, tugging on the brightly colored fabric.

When Meredith comes back from the bedroom, ready to go, the three of them are deeply engaged in hula architecture and there's no trace of Zola's anxiety from earlier. Even Bailey seems charmed.

"Okay, she's a child whisperer," Meredith says quietly, leaning against Derek as he gives her outfit an appreciative look. "Can we keep her?"

"God, I hope so, but we'll have to see if she's still willing to talk to us after she puts Bailey to bed."

They exchange amused glances.

"Ready?"

She nods.

"Zozo … we're going now, and we'll see you later. Be good for Mrs. Rollins and look out for your brother, sweetie, okay?"

Zola nods at her father's words without looking up.

"We love you," Meredith adds, "both of you."

Zola is still immersed in fitting the pieces of the purple-and-gold hoop together, but she looks up briefly. "Love you too," she says before turning back to the babysitter. "Where does this one go? It has that thing on the end, see?"

"I see. So your piece has that thing; is there another that has something that would fit into that thing?"

They close the door behind them on Zola's crow of delight as she locates the piece herself.

…

"Thank you for planning this," Meredith says as they walk toward … well, she's not sure. It's Derek's plan; she's tucker her hand into his arm and is letting him lead the way. Next time … it's her turn.

"Thank _you_ ," he says, "for finding Mrs. Poppins."

Meredith laughs at the well-deserved title, considering Mrs. Rollins's quick bond with their children. Zola fell in love with the Julie Andrews movie last year and begged to watch it so many times in a row during their movie nights that Meredith was finally forced to pretend the _Mary Poppins_ DVD was lost. "She does seem to be able to fit a lot in her bag."

"This way," he says, a hand on her back turning her around the corner.

"Derek … where are we going?"

"You'll see."

"You said dinner," Meredith reminds him. "I'm not really dressed for anything … weird."

She looks down at her outfit; she's wearing a blouse Derek once said he liked, a necklace he gave her.

"You look great," he says, and she smiles. "And besides, you won't be _really dressed_ for long."

If she'd been drinking, she would have spit out her drink.

"Derek!"

"What?" He glances around them; people walk past on the street without looking over.

"You _know_ what." She elbows him with a smile, and he tugs her closer to his side. "Are we almost there?"

"You sound like Zola," he teases her. "And yes, we are almost there. In fact, if you just give me fifteen seconds, we'll be … there," he says with finality.

Meredith his follow his gaze up a column of glittering windows. "We're … at a hotel."

"I know."

"Wait." She turns to him, confused. "We live in a hotel."

He nods.

"So we already have a hotel, but you booked another hotel?"

"We already have a hotel, but I booked another hotel."

"And why is that?"

"That … is because there are children in the hotel we already have."

"There _are_ children in the hotel we already have," she agrees.

"And there's a rubber duck in our bathtub."

"There is also a rubber duck in our bathtub," she agrees again.

"Welcome to our new hotel," he says, "which … doesn't have any of those things."

"Derek?"

"Yeah."

"I like the way you think."

"I thought you might."

…

"I take it back. This hotel is nothing like the other one. They shouldn't even be called the same thing."

"No?"

"No," she confirms. I mean, here … we can leave the door open. No one's coming in."

"No one's coming in," Derek echoes, and she feels his arms slide closer around her.

"And we can light _candles_ ," Meredith says reverently, "actual candles, not the pretend ones that can't burn little fingers. Thank you for doing that, by the way."

"Actual candles," Derek murmurs in her ear, pausing to kiss her neck. "No problem."

She shivers slightly at the contact and he wraps her closer. Her hands rest over his; frothy bubbles surround them both as the hot water soothes her muscles. Warm candlelight flickers across the surface of the oversized bathtub.

Just as he predicted … her clothes didn't stay on long.

"You picked a good room."

"I have good taste in rooms."

"You do." She settles back against him. "This tub is huge."

"Maybe it's just happy to see you."

She laughs in spite of herself. "Get it out of your system now, Derek. "

"Or what?"

"Or I might not be so friendly – hey!" she squeaks as bubbles slosh over the side of the tub.

…

"Are you sure you don't want to go to a restaurant?"

"Oh, I'm sure."

Meredith carefully detaches a piece of pizza from the box, then offers a bite to Derek.

"Careful – " he cups a hand underneath the slice to keep hot grease from dripping on her.

… which is helpful, because she's still naked.

"Do _you_ want to go to a restaurant?"

"Not if it means we'd have to get dressed."

"I think it means we'd have to get dressed."

He leans in to kiss her and she laughs against his lips, pulling back to take another bite of pizza and then laughing again at his offended expression.

"Are you choosing pizza over me?"

"No, I'm choosing pizza so I can get enough strength back to choose you again," Meredith says. "Maybe choose you twice … if you're lucky."

"I'm already lucky," he says.

…

"Derek, we don't have to tell Mrs. Rollins that we left our hotel … to go to another hotel, do we?"

She leans against him as they stroll down the sidewalk. It's warm out tonight but the breeze is cool.

"As long as we don't tell her what we did in that hotel."

"I'm not sure even _I_ know what we did," she admits, grinning. "We got pretty creative there."

"Yeah, we did," he agrees, sounding smug – but with good reason.

…

"No, you slide it in like – let me do it," Meredith says, laughing a little. "Are you drunk?"

"Not on alcohol," he grins at her and leans in for one more kiss as the door swings open.

"Oh!" Meredith pulls back. "Mrs. Rollins. Hi. How were the kids?"

"They were great. They're both asleep. I hope you had a nice evening," the babysitter says mildly.

"Oh. Yes," Meredith says hastily. "Thank you. We, um, we had dinner and … went to the ballet."

Derek glances at her curiously and she gives him a helpless look.

"Well, that sounds lovely." Mrs. Rollins smiles at both of them and then leans in toward Meredith. "Your blouse is buttoned wrong, dear."

Meredith flushes deeply.

"I'm glad you enjoyed yourselves," the babysitter says cheerfully. "The children were absolutely delightful."

"Our children," Derek says doubtfully, flinching when Meredith swats him.

"Yes, your children. Bailey went down without too much complaining and Zola read me three books before the sandman visited but she's been sleeping for a while."

"Thank you so much," Derek says, gratitude in his voice. He glances at Meredith. "I'm going to go check on them."

She nods.

"You are a gem," Meredith tells the babysitter honestly when they're alone.

"You have my card," she says. "Sometimes a couple just needs to … go to the ballet, and I'm only a phone call away if you do."

"How did you become such a child whisperer?"

"Oh, I've been around children all my life. I spent my twenties in a yoga commune. And I have six of my own."

"Six!" Meredith's eyes widen.

"I … spent my twenties in a yoga commune," Mrs. Rollins repeats, winking. "But they're all grown up now, and sometimes I miss the little ones."

"Well, it seems like you have a gift."

"Some children make it easy." Mrs. Rollins smiles. ""Zola is special, isn't she? So bright and inquisitive and very patient with the little one." She pauses. "And she has quite the knack for poker."

Meredith blushes. "Yeah, um, a family friend taught her back home."

 _Cristina, I owe you an email … among other things._

"Dr. Grey…"

"Meredith."

"Meredith," she says, "there was something else I wanted to mention to you, if you have a moment?"

"Of course." Meredith glances toward the bedroom; Derek still hasn't emerged. Instinctively she moves with Mrs. Rollins away from the door.

"Just something Zola said when she was getting ready for bed," the babysitter tells her quietly. "She asked me if I thought her parents were happy."

Meredith blinks, confused. "She did?"

The babysitter nods. "I asked her why she was asking and she said, 'because if they're happy then they're definitely not getting a divorce.'"

Meredith's cheeks burn. _Oh, Zo._

"I'm glad you told me," she says quietly. "Thank you. We, um, we're not. Getting divorced, I mean. Not at all. But my husband has been working here in DC the last few months and I've been in Seattle with the kids and …"

"Children get confused," Mrs. Rollins says understandingly. "Especially with a big transition."

"I've tried to reassure her." For some reason Meredith needs the babysitter to understand this. "We've talked to her, but …"

"Some things take time."

"I think she misses Seattle," Meredith says tentatively. "We have a … community out there."

"And a family here."

Meredith nods; for some reason, her eyes are tingling.

Tactfully, Mrs. Rollins moves on. "Zola is quite the hostess," she says affectionately. "She invited me to visit her 'real house' in Seattle," she explains with a smile, "but we agreed we'd run it by Mom and Dad first."

"You're welcome anytime," Meredith says, "especially if you can get Zola to open up to you."

Mrs. Rollins smiles. "Now … I don't know what's happening in your marriage and I don't need to know, dear – but perhaps someone to talk to, for Zola, might not be a bad idea?"

Meredith's first instinct is to reject the offer. There's nothing wrong with Zola. She's perfect. She's smart and sweet and loving and funny, kind to her baby brother, she even flosses without complaint. Other than passionate debates about bedtime, reluctance to wear winter coats until mid-December, and unwavering rejection of summer squash, she's given them so little trouble.

No, there's nothing wrong with Zola. She doesn't need counseling.

Then again, there's nothing _wrong_ with her marriage to Derek, either, and they're in marriage counseling. Just because something is good doesn't mean it can't be better. Or easier. Or healthier.

"Yes," she says quietly, "that's something we could … consider."

"A friend of mine actually does holistic child work – you might consider starting there," Mrs. Rollins says mildly. "Play therapy, movement, that kind of thing."

Meredith nods, feeling slightly dazed. "Do you have a name, or …"

"Here, I have a card." The babysitter pauses once Meredith has taken the card. "I understand Dad doesn't approve of gymnastics."

"He's a neurosurgeon," Meredith explains, "and he treated a child gymnast during his fellowship who … he doesn't approve of gymnastics," she summarizes, avoiding the fact that the statistic he used to throw around, _gymnastics produces as many injuries as hockey,_ didn't really make sense to her until too recently. "He's not comfortable with sports that have a risk of cranial or spinal injury," she adds.

"Ah. I understand. But maybe some kind of sport that … doesn't? It could help her socialize, get some exercise … something like dance, or a martial art?"

Meredith nods. "That's a good idea. She's … social, and she went to an after-school program in Seattle with activities and … I was thinking we'd put her in school here," Meredith says, "so she could meet people, even if there's not much of the year left."

She's not sure why she's sharing so much with the babysitter, except that the woman seems interested, has advice and experience, and knows and appreciates Meredith's children.

With a start she wonders if this is what it would be like to have an actual mother.

"You've already been thinking about this," Mrs. Rollins says approvingly and Meredith finds herself flattered. "I think that's a very good idea." She pauses.

"You know someone, don't you."

"It depends on your teaching style," she says, "but my friend is an educational consultant, she works a lot of the transient families coming in and out of the DMV."

Meredith has to stifle a smile; at some point she _will_ get used to that disconcerting acronym.

Mrs. Rollins presses a card into her hand.

"If you need anything else."

"Just a house," Meredith jokes, then smiles at the babysitter's expression. "Your friend is a realtor, isn't she."

"Of course." She passes her another card. "She just found a lovely house for an environmental lobbyist's family. Lots of trees. Twenty-four hour flip," she adds. "She knows things move quickly around here."

Meredith lets out a breath she didn't realize she was holding. "Thank you so much," she says. "Really. I … guess you can tell we need a home."

Mrs. Rollins glances toward the bedroom door, which is opening slowly to reveal Derek, and smiles at her. "I can tell you need a _house_ ," the babysitter corrects gently. "It's clear you already have a home."

 _The thing is, it's hard to push past that fear. To build that trust. But if you don't, if you stay anxious about strangers forever, then you don't meet new people. And if you don't meet new people, and you don't let them in – then you could miss out._

 _Because sometimes that stranger turns out to be exactly who you need to meet … exactly when you need to meet them._

* * *

To be continued _…_ with house hunting! So grateful for everyone who's been sticking with me, even when the updates aren't as fast as I'd like. They'll always come, though. I'm really enjoying writing the family a little later in the game, with older kids, and navigating a temporary change in circumstance. **Thank you** again for being so awesome, all of you! Please review and let me know what you think of this chapter … and what you think you'd like to see in the future!

PS How many of you recognized the dialogue that was obviously in my head from the "there's no baby in the shower" scene back when Zola was a baby?


	7. building and rebuilding

**A/N:** Thank you so much for the feedback on this story. I am so happy you are enjoying it. I've had a crazy busy period recently but now it's time for some updating. So I hope you enjoy this one. This one's for the rockstar anonymous reviewers, the ones I can't PM. Regular reviewers keep this site going and you are awesome. **Patsy** and your clan: you rock.

* * *

 _.. Building and Rebuilding_ ..

* * *

 _Have you ever built a house?_

"Wait, let's make it taller first," Zola says.

 _I bet you have. Maybe it was a long time ago. A really long time ago._

"Can you reach?" Derek points, and then passes her a bright yellow block.

 _The thing is, you may not remember. Because we start building houses young. Really young._

"I help," Bailey insists, one little hand reaching out as Zola winces in advance of an anticipated crash.

"Careful," Zola warns her brother, sounding surprising adult, and he nods, taking the project seriously, inching his small fingers toward the growing stack of smooth, brightly colored wooden blocks.

 _But even though we all start out building houses … most of us eventually stop. We grow up, put away our blocks, and we move into places other people have already built. We choose the four walls and windows and doors that we think will work best for us and our loved ones. And then we cross our fingers and hope the foundations are sturdy._

"Watch out!" Zola leaps to her feet, dragging her baby brother with her, as the house comes tumbling down.

Bailey laughs with delight. " _Crash_ ," he says happily.

 _Because sometimes houses fall. They're just buildings. They're made of – well, they're not made of wooden kids' blocks, not out there in grown up land, but they're still just buildings. They're a series of walls, and walls fall. If you're lucky, you rebuild._

"Maybe it would have worked better smaller," Zola offers doubtfully.

"It's okay." Meredith checks her watch. "You have enough time to build another one."

 _And if you're really lucky … what you rebuild is even stronger than what you lost._

Meredith joins the other three members of her family on the carpeted floor for the next phase of construction, which involves a heated – but still relatively diplomatic – debate between Zola or Bailey about which shape of block provides the best foundation. Bailey's choice is spherical, but he defends it passionately.

"Let him try," Derek suggests, "and then if it doesn't work, we'll try something else."

Zola agrees to this. More importantly, from Meredith's perspective, when the block slides right off the wooden ball, she gives Bailey a comforting pat on the shoulder without a hint of triumph. "Good try," she says, and Bailey beams at the praise – and beams even more when Zola hands him a wooden rectangle to help her rebuild the foundation.

The children are still building, the walls inching higher, when Derek eases to his feet and offers Meredith a hand up. He pours another cup of coffee in the nearby kitchen area, but Meredith has the sense that's not the only reason why he drew her aside.

"Are you sure you want to start house-hunting before you know where you'll be working?"

"It's DC," Meredith reminds him, "there are more world-class opportunities than I could even brainstorm, and they're everywhere. And we need a house."

"We do need a house." He pauses. "Mer ... thank you."

She leans against him, snagging his mug to steal a sip of coffee. "For what?"

"For flying out here … and bringing the kids … and being willing to do this."

" _This_ is our life," she reminds him gently. "It's what I want to do."

"I know." He kisses the top of her head, and then her lips when she tilts her face up to meet his. "I'm just grateful."

"I'm glad you're grateful."

"Well, I'm grateful you're glad."

She kisses him again instead of responding. He tastes like coffee and something else warm and comforting she can't quite identify. She just knows she likes it.

And she knows she doesn't want to live without it.

…

They take turns helping the children get ready, ducking and dipping in and out of the two bathrooms and the sole bedroom.

"Fancy meeting you here," Derek teases when they walk directly into each other on the living area's threshold.

Meredith smiles. "It's possible we need a little more space."

Bailey is attempting to scale the length of his father, a look of concentration on his small face.

"And some room for them to run around, so all their energy isn't used up on – hey," Derek catches Bailey just as he loses his grip and starts to fall, then turns back to Meredith. "Where was I?"

"You were right here." She taps an uninjured Bailey's little nose. "And you were right. These two need a yard."

"With swings," Zola pipes in.

"Swings are a great idea." Meredith reaches down to untuck the collar of her daughter's soft shirt.

"And not just the – " Zola glances at Bailey. "- _small_ ones," she says euphemistically, apparently for her little brother's benefit.

They haven't been in DC very long at all, but it seems Zola is already well on her way to becoming a diplomat.

An anxious diplomat, one who has asked Meredith twice when the realtor is coming.

"She should be here in a few minutes." Meredith draws her daughter closer, confused by her expression. "What's wrong, sweetie?"

"Do me and Bailey have to stay here?"

"What do you mean?"

"When you see houses and stuff."

"No, of course not. You're coming with us."

Zola brightens at this. "And we can help? Pick the one we're gonna live in, I mean."

"Of course you can. Within reason," Meredith adds teasingly, "no petting zoos or circus trapezes."

Zola smiles, and then her eyes widen. "But if we have a house … maybe we can get a _dog_."

"… one thing at a time, Zozo."

"Wise advice," Derek adds, leaning in to tug lightly at one of Zola's pigtails and then returning to the often complex task of tying Bailey's shoes without injuring himself in the process.

…

"Good morning! I'm Eternity," the realtor says brightly as soon as the door opens – but with as much pep as she has in her words, they're still not as bright as her hair.

Which is pink.

Very, very pink.

Zola's eyes widen appreciatively.

"Come in … Eternity," Derek repeats, then seems to school himself quickly. "Nice to meet you." He introduces himself and Meredith. "And these are our children."

"I heard about them from –"

"Mrs. Poppins," Derek supplies.

"Mrs. Rollins," Meredith corrects.

Zola brightens at the name of her babysitter. "Is she coming house-hunting too?"

"No," Derek says, "but once we find a house, she can come and hang out with you there."

Zola seems satisfied by this.

"I like the color of your hair," she tells Eternity, Meredith wincing slightly, wondering if she'll be offended.

"Thanks! I like the color of yours too." Eternity smiles at Zola and then reaches behind her to wheel in a neon green nylon briefcase. "I know you're looking to move quickly," she says, "which is great … because I specialize in quick turnarounds."

Meredith can't help thinking that she should have been named something more like _Ephemeral_ if that's the case, but that's none of her business.

"I placed an NIH family last week in Chevy Chase, actually, but …." She studies the family for a moment. "I'm getting more of a Rockville feel right now."

"A Rockville feel," Derek repeats, sounding doubtful.

"Oh, but I'm not certain. Not yet. I have plenty of questions before we get started, don't worry."

"Right. Of course." Meredith and Derek exchange a nervous glance.

They move the remaining detritus of family life from the table – Bailey's orange sippy cup, a handheld puzzle Zola was working on earlier – so they can spread out. Bailey is distracted with his colorful blocks; Zola moves back and forth between her brother and her parents.

"You probably want to know more about us before you … decide where to take us," Meredith offers, mainly to appease a rather worried-looking Derek.

"You read my mind! I absolutely do."

"Great." Meredith glances at her husband. "Why don't you …"

"Sure." Derek nods. "So, uh, location. I've been dividing my time between the offices here in the district and this hotel, and I've kept a room by the main campus, but we're interested in finding a place we can stay full time until – " Derek stops talking, presumably because of Eternity's confused expression. "And, uh, we're interested in placing Zola in a school that can – is something wrong?"

"No, no," Eternity reassures him, "it's just … that's not the sort of _information_ I meant. That's not what I need to find the right house for you."

"It's not?" Meredith can't help sounding doubtful.

"Definitely not." Eternity looks pensive. "You must have had some strange realtors before me if you're surprised by that."

Meredith feels Derek's foot nudging her ankle, a sure sign he's trying not to laugh, and presses her lips together.

"Anyway!" Eternity continues brightly. "Let's start with some of the _really_ important things so I can find the right neighborhood and the right house." She whips out a large folder and hands a document each to Derek and Meredith.

"If I can ask all of you to take a look at this questionnaire…"

"All of us? You have … questionnaires for the kids too?" Meredith asks faintly.

"Of course." Eternity looks confused. "It's their house too."

"I know, but …"

"I can read," Zola says, having wandered back over. She's leaning against Derek, peering at his questionnaire with interest.

"I know, I heard _all_ about your reading skills. Here," and Eternity gives Zola her own piece of paper – this one bright pink.

Zola beams, then brings her questionnaire to the other end of the table and climbs up into her own seat to start filling it out.

"I'll just give Bailey his verbally," Eternity adds, "and make note of his answers … if that's all right with you, I mean."

"Sure," Meredith says weakly, watching as Eternity strolls across the carpet to join Bailey on the floor with the blocks. She can tell by the timbre of his voice that he's charmed by the company.

Meredith sneaks a glance around at her family. Derek is frowning slightly as he studies the questionnaire, occasionally clicking his pen in the habit he's never broken.

Zola's lower lip is pressed lightly with her teeth as she concentrates, leaving a waxy purple series of lines across the paper as she answers the questions.

Bailey is chattering with Eternity, some of it distinct as she catches certain words, pen scratching across paper.

 _Tiger_ , that's one.

And in a moment or two, _cookie_ , said with an implied exclamation point – the only way Bailey ever says it _._

Meredith is amused … and nervous. Is she going to be responsible for a realtor who thinks they want to live in a combined bakery/exotic zoo?

… look on the bright side, she reminds herself. Zola and Bailey would _both_ be thrilled with the bakery/exotic zoo combo, and if it's convenient to NIH…

"Mommy?"

Meredith looks over at Zola, the interruption coming just in time.

"How do you spell _parachute?_ "

"P-a-r-a," Meredith begins automatically, then stops. "Wait … Zo, why do you need to spell that word?"

"I just do," Zola shrugs.

Meredith finishes spelling it. "Zozo," she begins tentatively, "is your questionnaire …"

Zola lifts a finger to her lips, looking much like Meredith probably does when she reminds her daughter to keep quiet during the baby's nap. "Shh, Mommy, I'm working."

Meredith hides her smile, and returns to her own questionnaire.

It's difficult.

Not in the way she predicted. It's not asking for expertise or even knowledge of DC neighborhoods, or for maximum mileage between home and work – a work Meredith hasn't figured out yet – or even technical questions about numbers of bathrooms and bedrooms.

Maybe that's why she's still stuck on the first question: _At my best, I am_ … and then there are choices: _a revolutionary, a caregiver, an inventor, a teacher, a leader, a risk-taker, and optimist, an adventurer._

Meredith glances from the paper to Eternity and back again, then at Derek, whose own head is bent over his paper. "Um … is this supposed to be …"

"Just choose the best answer you can," Eternity says with a smile.

The next question doesn't even have the security of multiple choice: _Why do people fear losing things they do not even have yet?_

She sneaks a glance at Derek's questionnaire, which seems to be different from hers, and catches just half a question: … _the same as other people's experience of consciousness?_

Feeling a bit like she's stepped through the looking glass, Meredith turns back to her questionnaire to read the next line: _Which is more powerful to you, nature or nurture?_

"Daddy," Zola looks up from her paper and Meredith and Derek both look over to her. "How do you spell _zombie_?"

"Sound it out," Derek suggests, apparently not at all concerned with the reason why she needs to know.

"Z," she responds. "a, or o." She pauses. "o, m, b … y?"

"Close. What else makes the –"

"i, e!" Zola corrects triumphantly, and returns to her paper.

"That was a great spelling lesson," Meredith whispers into her husband's ear, "but are you at all concerned that our daughter apparently thinks our house-hunting will involve reanimated corpses?"

He makes a face at her, and then it's her turn to kick him so she doesn't laugh. She forces herself to pay attention to the questionnaire. Eternity is Mrs. Rollins's friend. If she can trust the elderly-but-spry yoga teacher with her children's lives, she can trust them with finding a realtor.

Can't she?

She keeps this in mind as she makes her way through the rest of the questionnaire, pausing to help Zola spell _astronaut_ and, rather worryingly … _tarantula_.

…

Finally all the questionnaires have been collected. To call it the moment of truth would be … it would be fair, Meredith decides, because all four of them are dressed to go and Eternity is leading them down the hall toward her car – the fact that it's a bright yellow pickup truck really shouldn't surprise her at this point, should it?

Derek pauses before they load in the children's carseats.

"Okay, Mer." He leans close so his words are only for her. "You found Mrs. Poppins, and she seemed a little weird, and then turned out to be incredible. So I want to give her friend the benefit of the doubt here. But I'm having a little trouble with how someone who just met us is supposed to find a place that meets all of our needs – educational, professional, space, resources, _everything_ – based on a questionnaire that didn't ask one thing about the kind of house we need or where we want to live, but did ask: _What makes you, you?_ And: _Is there a different between living and being alive_?"

Meredith gives him a sympathetic pat on the arm. "I'm with you," she says. "But – what's the harm in trying?"

"She might drive us to some … yoga commune," he whispers.

"Even if she does, we don't have to live there." She turns to lift Bailey into the car. "I think we should give her a chance," she says finally.

"Yeah?" Derek looks at her. "Okay, then. That's enough for me."

"It is?"

"For now, yes. Ask me again when she tries to get us to buy a yurt."

Meredith hides a laugh in her sleeve as she helps Zola with her seatbelt, and then they're off, and the silver-grey city gives way to winding river and the kind of dense greenery she's missed. They haven't even gone that far, but it _feels_ far, urban street turned to highway turned to winding road and then … to trail.

 _That's the other thing you need, when you build. It's not in the blueprints and it's kind of hard to describe. It's that indefinable, mysterious something that makes four walls, some brick and mortar …_

The four of them stand in a row, transfixed, as the sun slants down across the jewel-green lawn and a warm spring breeze moves the thicket of trees leading to the winding trail that curves invitingly toward the woods.

… _into a house._

"It's perfect," Derek admits.

"It's peaceful," Meredith says.

"No zombies," Zola points out.

"Mine!" Bailey adds with enthusiasm, summing it up for everyone as he points one little finger. "My house."

"Our house," Derek corrects him gently, and scoops him up.

 _The house is the outside. It's the walls, the door, the windows … the sturdy foundation you hope will keep you safe. It's the space around the space you fill with what you need. Sometimes we get caught up in finding the perfect space. The right space. The one that will make everything come together._

"Can we really live here? All together?" Zola squeezes her mother's hand and Meredith pulls her close to her side for a hug.

"All together," she assures her daughter, the big smile she gets in return worth more than any broker's fee.

 _And then sometimes you find a house so perfect that it reminds you that a house – no matter how perfect – really is just that. A house. And what makes it a home is actually the people who live inside._

"Shall we?" Derek holds out his free hand, the one not carrying Bailey, and Meredith slips one of her hands into his, the other linking her to Zola. It's the first house she's shown them, and they haven't even seen the inside. Maybe it shouldn't feel this right, this soon – all she knows is that it does. So together, she and Derek and their children walk up the flagstone path toward the front door, ready to see what comes next.

 _See, what that means is that the most important part of the house is the one you build before you even set foot in the driveway. The one you rebuild, if you need to. Because it's that important. And if you're lucky, you remember the lessons from your days of wooden blocks and legos and childhood architecture … and you rebuild it into something even stronger._

* * *

 **To be continued. Because when you're obsessed with the McFamily, every day is Fluffy Friday. Ready for move-in? Ready for a chapter prompt I got ages ago and I will have to check out from whom ... but it's coming? Just want to let me know you're still into blazing this trail? Review and let me know! xoxo**


	8. lock and key

**A/N: Well, hi there.** Happy Saturday to some fantastic readers. You have been so generous sharing your thoughts and ideas and comments, and I appreciate it a whole heck of a lot. I know it's a little late for Fluffy Friday, but how about ... Snuggly Saturday? If you were not in the mood for an INSANELY long, incredibly self-indulgent, damn-but-I-love-writing-the-McFamily sort of chapter, then you know who to blame. (No, not me. **Patsy.** See, she's a rockstar reviewer without an account, so I can't PM her. All I can do is write updates for her to remind her that she's awesome!) To all of you who read, review, and keep this site going, **thank you** and I hope you enjoy this chapter! Without further rambling, I present McMoving Day.

* * *

 **.. Lock and Key ..**

* * *

 _It's human nature to stand back. We might walk right up to the edge of that cliff, but then we hesitate. We see how high up we are, and we stop. We back away from the edge._ _A p_ _sychologist would say that fear is adaptive. It's there to protect us from danger._

"Zola, sweetie, not so close to the edge," Derek calls from his position at the front door directing the movers. Zola, who has been creeping up to her tiptoes on the front porch, pauses.

 _If the adaptation works, we manage to grow up without plunging off a cliff or dropping into the abyss. We grow up safely. And then we have children._

"No, Bailey, come back here." Meredith chases their surprisingly fast toddler down the sloping green lawn, snagging the back of his little striped shirt as he approaches the yawning mouth of the open truck. "Don't run, honey."

 _And we want to protect them._

"Can I play in the back? Mommy, can I?"

"Not yet, Zozo, not until we finish moving."

"But we're not even moving," she pouts, pointing toward the truck. " _They're_ moving."

"Daddy and I are helping them figure out where to put things," Meredith says patiently. "So we need to be out here. Look, honey, there's all this grass in the front where you and Bailey can play. But you need to stay here for now, where we can see you."

 _So we tell our children to stand back. Stay away from that cliff. Don't look down. And don't take that step. Even when you want to, that's what we say. It's dangerous. It's not safe._

"Okay? I know it's hard to wait, but – Bailey, no!" Meredith turns on her toes to chase him down again.

 _We want them to be safe. Protected. So we tell them to stand back._

"Daddy, it's boring here," Zola complains, back on the porch while Meredith tries to reason with a fussing Bailey, kicking at the floorboards with her little sneakered foot.

"Try to be patient, Zo. Remember how excited you were to move in to the new house? And remember when we talked about how it would take some time?"

"Yeah," she says grudgingly, "but I didn't think it would take all day."

"Let's hope it's not going to take all day, because we're paying our mover friends by the hour. Mer?" Derek raises his voice so she can hear him across the lawn. She jogs up with a protesting Bailey on her hip.

"Want to trade?" She casts an envious look at the mostly quiet Zola and swipes a strand of hair off her sweaty forehead. It's hot in the sun, where Bailey insists on playing – and occasionally making a run for it. And the smell of freshly-cut grass, so intoxicating when they first visited the house, is starting to make her feel a little nauseated.

How did they get here? Moving day dawned exciting and new that morning, Zola twirling with joy in the hotel room, having helped to pack her things with a combination of orderly precision and glee. She claimed she couldn't wait to get back to the new house. The last few days in total, come to think of it, the kids have been so cooperative that perhaps she should have anticipated their current restlessness. Yesterday, Derek worked with his new team and Meredith and the children explored the city, taking advantage of their waning hours of proximity. The day before, they all accompanied Derek to his office in the city, where he closed out some of the work he had been doing there while Bailey divided his time between coloring quietly and charming assistants. They met the fellow who'd taken over for the woman who'd already faded into obscurity, and Zola immediately adored him – equal parts cerebral and cheerful, Patrick quickly claimed Zola a math genius and spent much of the afternoon helping her solve increasingly difficult puzzles while Derek jokes about wasting their grant.

But now they're waiting to get into the house.

And waiting.

And … waiting.

"Why don't you take the kids somewhere," Derek suggests. "I know Zo's getting stir-crazy and …" He glances at Bailey, apparently not finding the words to describe him.

"Take them where?" Meredith sets Bailey down, taking one pudgy little hand in hers. He promptly yanks it away and clambers up the steps toward his sister.

"Is Chicago too far?" Derek jokes.

Meredith can't help smiling. "They do have some energy to run off."

"I know." Derek glances inside the house, calling out to the movers. "Can you put that one upstairs?" He turns back to Meredith. "I somehow didn't think this would take that long. Shouldn't semi-furnished mean …"

"… semi furnished?" Meredith shakes her head. "You'd think."

"Mommy," Bailey pats her leg with increasing desperation. " _Help_."

She exchanges a glance with Derek. "Help with what, sweetie?"

"Play with me," he begs.

"No, me!" Zola's voice inches up to a rare whine. "I've been waiting _all day._ "

"Okay, you know what? We're going to the backyard." Meredith holds out a hand to her daughter. "Come on, Zozo. Let's go have some fun in the backyard."

"What's in the backyard?" Zola asks suspiciously.

" _We're_ in the backyard," Meredith says smoothly, neatly sidestepping the issue of the swingset that's not due to arrive for a few more days. "And we're a lot of fun. Let's go."

Derek throws her a grateful look as she leads both children down the porch steps, then does a double take when he sees what the movers are bringing out of the truck.

"Wait – guys – "

…

"Why does moving take _so_ long?" Zola grumps as they cross the jewel-green grass. The vast front lawn that seemed so appealing on their visit suddenly seems enormous, maybe because Bailey is dead weight hanging from Meredith's other hand.

"Because there are a lot of things to move," she explains. "Remember, all the things we brought with us, and the boxes Amy sent from Seattle, and the things we ordered – like your bed," she reminds Zola, who seems unable to keep a scowl on her face when she thinks about the bed she picked out herself. "We have to move all those things inside the house and then … we can move _us_ inside."

"Yeah," Zola stops, squatting in the grass, to pick up a dandelion. "But it's taking so _long._ "

"It feels that way because we're waiting. That's why we're going to do something fun," Meredith reminds her. "It makes things so faster. Bailey … hold Mommy's hand, please."

The walk to the backyard feels like it's taking forever. Maybe because Zola has stopped again to explore a tree whose branches seem to have built for climbing. She drops her mother's hand and props both her little ones on her hips, surveying the tree.

"Me too," Bailey suggests, as Zola braces both hands on a low hanging branch, then kicks off.

"Zo…"

"Look what I can do." She kicks again, building momentum, and then she's hoisted herself up on the branch.

"Zola, be careful."

"I am!" She wriggles until she's seated in a notch. "Hey, Bailey … come up here with me."

"No," Meredith says quickly, "he's too little, sweetie. Come down now so we can go to the backyard."

Zola sighs as if Meredith has just asked her to finish the moving job herself, but she pushes off from the tree and drops lightly to her feet. "Climbing is fun. And _branches_ are kind of like bars."

"Bars?"

"Bars. Like at gymnastics."

"Oh, honey, don't start that again, please." Meredith rests a hand on her daughter's small shoulder, urging her ahead toward the backyard. "At least not until we've moved in."

"You never let me do anything fun," Zola complains, and Meredith lets this rather outrageous accusation blow right past her; Zola's tired, and cranky, and the sun is beating down on them, and anyway the backyard is totally empty, which means they'll be able to run and jump and not worry about –

"Mommy, _look!_ " Zola tears off along the grass, and Meredith finds herself staring at bright yellow rings set up along thick cords high above the grass.

"Honey, wait…"

"It's a trapeze!" Zola is bouncing on her tiptoes, her bad mood forgotten. "Like in the circus!"

Meredith blinks a few times, trying to make sure she's seeing correctly. True, they were so certain it was the right house for them that their first trip through and around was quick. But sure they would have noticed this. There are steps set into thick tree trunks on both sides – not steps, more like ladder rungs. There's some wear and tear, Meredith notices, so they can't be new. _But how did we miss this?_

"Mommy, can I try it? _Please_." Zola clasps her little hands together prayerfully. "I'll be super extra careful, I promise."

"I don't know, sweetie." Meredith surveys the equipment. "We don't know who put this here, or how old it is, or how sturdy."

"The people who used to live here," Zola suggests. "Maybe they were in the circus!"

Meredith swallows the automatic joke about congress that threatens to rise to her lips. But didn't the realtor say the owners were affiliated with the NIH? Aren't most people in this neighborhood? She considers the mystery, reminding herself that it doesn't really matter – whoever put the trapeze here, it's here now.

And Zola is staring at the bright yellow rings like she's never seen anything so fantastic in her life.

"Please, Mommy…"

" _Please_ ," Bailey echoes, pronouncing it much like his favorite vegetable.

Zola's eyes are huge and pleading in her little face. Spending this transition time with her children has been magical in some ways, sobering in others – and sometimes surprising. One surprise is how much more she has to say _no_ when she's the primary adult present all day. _Yes_ just seemed more frequent when she was collecting the children at the end of a long work day, all of them exhausted and fumbling for food and sleep.

Meredith kneels down in the grass – it's so green it must have been watered recently, but somehow it feels neither cold nor damp. "Zozo," she says gently, "this isn't a playground. We need to figure out what this is before you can use it."

Bailey tries to sit on her lap, frustrated with her position, so she eases back cross-legged and lets him climb into the basket of her legs.

"But I know what it is. It's a trapeze. It's in my book."

Ah. "Which book?"

"The circus one. From the library."

Meredith tries to remember. She took both children with her to the rather impressive local branch of the city's library, where Zola climbed up and down the book-selection ladder and Bailey made a friend in the picture-book area – at least until he clocked him with a board book. She remembers leaving hastily after that, but she did check out a few books for Zola. She's pretty sure she reviewed them first, and she doesn't remember a circus book.

"It's about how to fly."

"People can't fly," she says gently.

"They can, Mommy, if they're acrobats and they have a trapeze. I'll show you." Zola's face brightens, then she sighs. "I'll show you when my books are all unpacked."

Bailey, who missed his nap today, is suddenly feeling very heavy on her lap. She can't see his face from her angle.

"Zo," she whispers, gesturing her daughter closer. "Is your brother asleep?"

Zola nods solemnly. "Now you're stuck, Mommy. You're his bed."

Meredith smiles. "You used to fall asleep on me like this. We'd sit outside together and watch Daddy work on the house and I'd hear you chatter, chatter, chatter until …" She mimes closing her eyes and dropping into slumber.

Zola giggles. "Really?"

"Really."

Zola looks from her sleeping brother to her mother and back again. "Do I have to nap too?"

Meredith shakes her head. "You can explore, Zo, just stay where I can see you. And stay _off_ the trapeze," she adds, hoping the warning is unnecessary.

She doesn't look at her watch – time doesn't seem important right now; she just sits in the warm patch of sunlight and listens to Bailey's steady breathing against her and follows Zola with her eyes. Her daughter spends the first few minutes running off her energy around the large, sloping yard, staying within the bounds Meredith prescribed. She darts back and forth several times with interesting things to show her mother: a pale green curling leaf with reddish veins, a twig shaped like a tuning fork, a particularly pretty stalk of Queen Anne's Lace.

"Mommy," she says at one point, clearly taking effort to keep her voice down while her brother naps, "there's stuff over there that's like … growing. I think."

"What do you mean?"

"Like a garden. Can we have a garden?"

"Definitely. We'll investigate it more once we're-"

"Moved in," Zola finishes the sentence for her glumly.

Meredith reaches for her daughter's hand. "Moving is one day, and then we get to be in a house all together. No more hotel room where we bump into each other because there's no room." She uses their joined hands to bump her daughter gently in illustration and Zola can't seem to help smiling.

"And then after we've moved in I can swing on the trapeze?"

Meredith pictures Derek's face when he sees the trapeze and hears his daughter's request. "We'll see, sweetie."

Zola looks like she's about to protest. "Hey." Meredith gestures towards the far end of the yard. "I think I see something green there – peeking up. Maybe the garden's already started."

"Really?" Zola follows her mother's gaze. "Let me go check!"

Meredith's not sure what she's going to do when her children become less distractible … but at least she probably has a little time before she has to find out. She smooth's Bailey's soft hair; he's breathing deeply and loudly, the rhythm of it making her tired along with his warm little body.

"Daddy!"

Meredith looks up at Zola's voice, twisting around to see Derek approaching from the front of the house. Zola runs to him and he lifts her over his head, then settles her in his arms.

"Are you done moving?" She asks eagerly.

"We are done moving." Derek looks at the sleeping child in Meredith's lap and she feels him stir in her arms.

Zola cheers. "So we can go see? Inside the house?"

"We can go see."

"Daddy." Zola points. "Did you see the trapeze?"

Meredith doesn't have to wait for his response; she can tell by his expression that he has. He exchanges a glance with Meredith that needs no words; apparently he doesn't remember it either.

"I do see the trapeze," he says carefully.

"I want to try it but Mommy said we don't know if it's strong or for kids," Zola says honestly, her tone reluctant.

Derek shoots Meredith a grateful look.

"It looks – high, and we don't know who put it there," Derek says.

"Circus people, Daddy! I read all about it and I know how to climb!" She pushes on his chest. "Put me down and I'll show you."

"No, not right now." He cups her little chin, tilting her face to his. "No trapeze, Zo, not without us, you got it?"

" _With_ you, then?"

"We'll see."

"That just means no," Zola pouts.

"My poor girl." Derek brushes his thumb on her cheek. "Stuck with a neurosurgeon for a dad who's seen too many head injuries."

"I'll be careful," she wheedles. "Super, extra careful."

"Not today," Derek says firmly. "Today is moving day. Not trapeze day."

"Can tomorrow be trapeze day?"

"Zola," Meredith intercedes quietly from the grass.

Derek just takes one of her little hands in his. "Let's also make today wash our hands day. I see you've been digging."

"There's a garden," she tells him, reluctantly tearing her gaze from the trapeze. "Kind of. And we can plant more things, right?"

"Right." He sets her on her feet. "This guy took a nap, huh?"

"With very little warning." Meredith smiles. "I'm not sure I can get up," she admits.

Derek crouches down to lift Bailey, who whimpers and rubs his eyes with both small fists, not very happy with his transition from sleep. Derek soothes him, patting his back and pacing with him as Bailey slowly calms.

Bailey is awake … but Meredith has discovered her legs are very firmly asleep. She gives up trying to stand and flops back into the grass.

"Mommy, what are you doing?"

"Waiting for my legs to wake up so I can stand." Meredith smiles at Zola.

"I'll help you," Zola says confidently, taking one of her mother's hands in both of hers and tugging forcefully –

Which results in Meredith spinning about forty degrees to the right and Zola losing her balance and tumbling on top of her.

"You two okay down there?" Derek glances over.

"Oh, we're great." Meredith skims her hands across Zola's ribcage to move her and her daughter shrieks with laughter.

"You're tickling me!"

"You're squashing me," Meredith counters, tickling her again.

"No, I was trying to help, but you're too heavy," Zola says.

"Excuse me?" With some effort, Meredith lifts Zola off of her and pretends to glare.

"You _are_ ," Zola giggles. "See?" She pulls herself to her knees and starts tugging at Meredith's hands again, to no avail.

Zola's laughs are bordering on hysteria.

Derek smiles down at the two of them. "What am I going to do with you?"

"You can help us up, for starters," Meredith suggests.

So he does.

…

Actually entering the moved-in house – actually walking through the doors of the space they're going to call home, for however long they're here, has to wait.

For a few things.

First, for Meredith to gain enough sensation in her legs to stand. Then, for Zola to recover sufficiently from her fits of laughter to walk straight. And finally for Bailey to wriggle in his father's arms, demanding to be put _down, down,_ so he can walk into the house all by himself.

And then they're ready. Together, the four of them traipse through the large backyard, along the path, through the fence, down the side of the house, to the front lawn.

The movers are gone. There's no sign of them other than a faint tire track in the driveway.

It's theirs now, and they retrace the steps they took the day they decided on the house, up the flagstone path, to the front door.

Then they pause for a moment of silence, Meredith and Derek exchanging a glance that speaks to the moment's significance, to their shared promise to use their time together in DC to strengthen their family, to the importance of finding a home that can nurture all four of them during this time of rebirth.

The moment of silence continues

… into moments.

"Are you gonna open the door?" Zola asks, a quizzical expression on her little face.

"Mommy has the key," Derek says.

"Daddy has the key," Meredith says at the same time.

They both look at each other.

"I thought you had it."

"I thought _you_ had it."

"I wasn't even in the house!"

"I had the door open for the movers!"

They both pause.

"Is it definitely locked?"

Derek rattled the knob a few times. "It's definitely locked."

They look at each other for a moment.

"Are we stuck?" Zola asks anxiously.

"We'll find a way in, don't worry." Derek gives Zola a confident smile, saving his concern for high over her head as he and Meredith exchange _now what_ looks.

"But we need a key," Zola says. "Now we have to sleep in the backyard." Her mournful expression changes to one of excitement. " _Can_ we sleep in the backyard? That would be cool!"

"Slow down, Zozo, let's give it a minute before we resort to sleeping rough, okay?" Derek tugs lightly on one of her pigtails. "Here, you and Bailey hang out for a bit while Mommy and I figure this out." He directs both children to the spot on the porch with the abandoned basket of blocks.

Zola takes her brother's hand. "Come on, Bailey, we gotta build a new house 'cause we're locked out of this one," Meredith hears her tell him as they settle down to play.

With the children occupied, Derek and Meredith turn to each other.

"Now what?"

"I'll text Eternity," Meredith suggests, sparing only a moment for how bizarre that sounds. "But I don't know how far away she is."

Derek mutters something that Meredith can't quite make out, but she can imagine, and all of a sudden she's laughing, and then he's laughing too.

"The door was open _all day_ ," she manages as they laugh, "and now we're locked out!"

"It's my fault," Derek says, sounding serious now.

"It's not your fault." Meredith wraps her arms around his waist.

"This isn't a very auspicious way to start living in the new house, is it?"

Now he sounds anxious.

"Derek." Meredith tightens her arms and waits for his to come around her. "That's not how this works. The house is great. It's a great house. And great houses have great locks."

"And great keys."

"Right. Great houses have great keys. It's just that _we_ don't have our great key."

"So we're stuck on the great porch."

She starts laughing again. "Zola's excited about sleeping outside."

"It's roomier than the hotel," he concedes, lips quirking into half a smile, and she takes a moment to be grateful that even if they do end up sleeping in the yard, there's no one she'd rather have by her side listening to her outdoor snores.

She glances toward the children and sees the blocks abandoned. She can hear their voices; it's clear they've gone further down the partly-wraparound porch.

"Mommy! Daddy!" Zola suddenly reappears. "Look what I found!"

She grabs one of each of their hands, Bailey hopping up and down enthusiastically next to her, and brings them around the side of the porch, down the steps, onto the grass.

" _Look!_ " Zola exclaims, pointing.

They follow her gaze to a small, square, partially open –

"Window!" Bailey beams proudly as he pronounces the very adult word.

Meredith draws a breath. The window is a small one, leaded, and it's at least six feet off the ground. But if someone could get inside it, they could open the locked front door and let everyone into the house.

Derek wrestles with the window for a moment. "It won't open any further," he says. "Good job finding it, Zo, but I don't think that's our way in. Not even Mommy can fit through there."

"But I can," Zola says, grinning. "It's little and so am I. See?"

She studies the open window and holds her small hands out in an approximation of the width.

"No," Derek says immediately. "It's so nice that you want to help, sweetie, but –"

"Why not?"

"Because it's not safe."

"Why isn't it?"

"Zozo," Meredith says patiently, "the window is high up and we don't even know what's inside it."

"Our house is inside it," Zola says indignantly.

Their son claps with delight as Meredith climbs onto Derek's back. "Horsey!" Bailey calls with glee.

Meredith looks in through the window. "It's a room," she says.

"A little more detail, Mer?"

"Right. It's carpeted, it's …" She peers further. "It's the family room, and there's the couch and the dollhouse and … nothing sharp," she says.

She climbs down from Derek's back.

"My turn!" Bailey shouts.

"Hang on, buddy." Derek frowns at the window and then moves closer to his wife, lowering his voice. "Meredith …"

"It's carpeted," she repeats.

"Yeah, but when – _if_ – we put her in there, then what? She's all alone in that big house she doesn't know her way around, and – "

" – and she finds her way down to the front door and lets us in. She's smart," Meredith says.

"I know she's smart, but she's not a homing pigeon."

"We don't have to do this." Meredith rests a hand on his chest. "We can … go drive somewhere and wait for Eternity to text back."

"Go inside," Bailey whimpers suddenly. "Go home, Mama."

"We're trying, sweetie." Meredith lifts him to her hip, jogging him a bit to soothe him.

"I can do it," Zola says. "Daddy, I can. I'm a good climber. I climbed the tree over there."

She points, and Derek raises an eyebrow at Meredith.

"She's fast. And I was watching her."

"I know, but – "

"Please," Zola says, and then speaks the magic words, "I need the bathroom."

"Okay." Derek looks like he's bracing himself. He rolls up his sleeves, looks from one member of his family to the next. "Zozo, if we do this, then you're going to need to get down to the front door and let us in."

"I know. I can do it."

"How are you going to do it?"

"Go out of the family room … and into the hall … and down the stairs … and to the front door," she recites patiently.

Bailey claps happily, his sulk forgotten, as Derek lifts Zola into his arms. Meredith watches, holding Bailey close, hardly daring to breathe, as Derek very carefully slides Zola's little body through the gap in the window, first her feet in their small pink sneakers, then her bare legs, her denim shorts, rainbow striped shirt – he pauses, cradling her head.

"Zozo, are you sure–"

"I'm sure, Daddy," Zola says impatiently. "Let go."

He does.

For a moment, everything is quiet.

Then Zola pokes her grinning face through the window. "I'm in! Daddy, my dollhouse looks _perfect_."

Meredith smiles with relief. "Great job, sweetie. Go down to the front door now," she calls.

Zola nods and disappears. They hear footsteps … and then nothing.

"Mer." Derek moves closer. "I don't like this."

"Let's go to the door," she suggests, trying not to feel nervous. She carries Bailey with her as they climb up to the porch and follow it to the front of the house.

It's still quiet.

"I shouldn't have let go of her."

"Derek, she's fine, you saw her!"

"Then where is she?" He rests a hand on the front door, shaking his head.

"Derek – "

The sound of pounding feet interrupts here. "I'm here!" Zola yells from behind the front door, and then her adorable face is filling up the glass slats next to the door, and she's waving enthusiastically.

Meredith exhales hard and waves back. "Open the door, Zozo."

Her face disappears and they hear some scratching of metal.

"Lefty-loosey," Derek calls.

"I know!"

Click.

Scratch.

 _Click_.

Derek holds the screen and then suddenly the big wooden front door is yawning open to reveal a beaming Zola standing on a red and white welcome mat.

"I did it!"

"You sure did." Derek holds the door open for Meredith and Bailey, then leans down to scoop Zola up, hugging her tightly. "You were amazing. Did you hurt yourself?" He slides a hand down her bare legs. "No scratches?"

"No, I'm good." Zola wraps her arms around his neck. "Didn't you think I could do it?"

"We did," Meredith assures her.

"You were quiet for a minute there," Derek says hesitantly.

"I was peeing," Zola says bluntly. "I told you I had to use the bathroom."

Meredith laughs into Bailey's blond hair.

"There's soap in my bathroom that smells just like lemonade!" Zola beams, holding out a little hand for Meredith to sniff.

"That's a nice touch." Meredith glances at Derek. "Eternity?"

"Seems about right." Derek pokes Zola in the ribs. "You already claimed a bathroom?"

"No, it was already mine," Zola says, sounding puzzled, "there's a real big Z right on the wall. A purple one!"

"Don't look at me," Meredith says.

"It definitely wasn't me."

"Come on," Zola says, "let's go upstairs, and I'll show you." She pauses. "Daddy – I did a good job going in the window, right?"

"You did a great job."

"So ... does that mean I can try the trapeze tomorrow?"

Derek glances at Meredith. She gives him an encouraging look, leaving the decision to him.

There's a long moment of silence.

"You have to wear your bike helmet," Derek says finally.

Zola's eyes widen with excitement. "I will."

"And you have to let Mommy and Daddy try it out first."

"I will!"

" _And_ you have to be careful."

"I will, I promise!"

"Okay, then." Derek draws a deep breath and then releases it. "Let's see how you feel about it tomorrow."

"Okay," Zola says agreeably. "But I already know I'm going to feel good tomorrow."

Somehow … Meredith has the feeling they all will.

 _Maybe fear is adaptive. Maybe it was meant to protect us. But adaptation also means change. It means adjusting to somewhere new … even when it's scary. And the things is, sometimes you do need to get right up to that edge. Because when you step over, when you finally let go - that's when you can really fly._

* * *

 ** _To be continued! We still have to explore the house, find Zola her school, sort out Meredith's career changes, and let's not forget the trapeze. Did you like McMoving Day? Review and let me know! xoxo 'til next time._**


	9. happy and unhappy

**A/N: Happy sweet, sweet Sunday, Trailblazers! I'm gonna be honest and say I wasn't planning to update this story today. Why am I doing it, then? Because you are all awesome readers who deserve a belated fluffy Friday. And specifically because Patsy requested it and no one takes down rude anonymous reviewers like she does, so her wish is my writing command. I hope you like the chapter!**

* * *

 ** _.. Happy and Unhappy .._**

* * *

 _A very famous, very old, and very Russian writer once said that happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way._

 _I never really understood that. But then again, I didn't have a whole lot of experience with happy families. Different, alike ... how would I know?_

"Mommy, you're not going to believe this."

Meredith smiles at Zola's expression – utterly serious, yet delighted at the same time. Derek likes to call it her _splitting the atom_ face, and he swears one day she'll have that same look … when she wins the Nobel Prize.

"Come with me," Zola urges. "You _have_ to see it."

Meredith follows Zola down the hall, leaving a napping Bailey in the family room in the portable playpen they mercifully packed in their own car.

"Daddy!" Zola bellows, and Derek appears, looking rather dusty from sealing off the fireplace.

"What's wrong, Zozo?"

"Nothing's wrong, you just _gotta_ see this. Come on."

And she takes each of her parents by one hand and drags them toward her bedroom.

"Look," she says excitedly, crossing the room and pointing to the wall.

Meredith looks, trying to see what Zola is pointing out. "A crack in the wall?"

"No. It's _so_ much better." Zola presses her little fingers along the seam and it splits in two, revealing what looks like a large wooden crate and a system of pulleys.

"It's an _elevator for kids!_ "

"Look at that." Derek whistles softly, joining Zola. "How old did the realtor say this house was, Mer?"

"She didn't." Meredith crouches next to him to examine the discovery. "I guess I just assumed … forties?"

"Right." Derek thumps one of the solid walls. "I think it might be older than that."

He looks at their daughter. "That means your room must be above the kitchen."

Zola looks confused.

"That's not an elevator, Zo … it's a dumbwaiter," Derek says.

Zola frowns. " _Dumb_ isn't a nice word, Daddy."

"You're right, sweetie, but in this case it's a different kind of _dumb._ Like an old fashioned way of saying _quiet._ "

"Oh." Zola considers this.

"But you still shouldn't use that word," Derek adds quickly.

"Okay. But." Zola props a hand on her hip. "Maybe it's not an elevator but it's definitely not a waiter. Waiters are _people_."

"You're right," Derek says. "Maybe we need a new name for it."

"What's it for?"

"People would put food on it," Derek explains, "and move it up and down to different floors."

Zola looks intrigued and Derek, concerned.

Meredith watches him sit back on his haunches and take Zola's hands in his, his tone serious. "Listen, Zozo, I'm going to board it up," he tells their daughter, "as soon as I figure out where I packed my tools."

"Why? It's so cool!" Zola's voice rises in protest.

"Because it's dangerous," Derek says calmly, "and I don't want you playing with it."

"I won't … "

"And I don't want your brother playing with it," Derek continues. "It's not safe for people. It's meant for food."

"Then why can't we use it for food?"

"Because it's the twenty-first century and we don't need our food delivered through the walls," Derek tells her, settling down cross-legged and pulling Zola into his lap. "We can go downstairs to the kitchen and get food when we need it. Right?"

"Yeah…" Zola's playing with the zipper of his lightweight vest. "But the elevator for kids is better than going downstairs 'cause you can just stay here."

"I can't argue with that logic," Derek admits, flashing a grin at Meredith, "but it's off limits anyway."

"Can we use it once first?"

"No," Meredith joins the conversation. "It's not a toy, sweetie, and we have no idea when it was built or serviced or … anything."

"Nineteen-fourteen."

"Hm?"

"It says right there," Zola tells them, climbing out of Derek's lap and pointing one small finger at the underside of the wooden structure.

"So not the forties, then," Derek says to Meredith under his breath. To Zola he says: "There you go. That's a long time ago, especially if it hasn't been repaired since then. No touching. You got it?"

Zola looks like she wants to rebel, but she nods. "Nineteen-fourteen," she repeats, and when her brow furrows, and Meredith can tell she's doing the subtraction in her head. She gives her daughter a pad and a crayon – someone has apparently stocked the little maple child's desk with everything Zola might need.

While Zola painstakingly works out how long ago 1914 was, Meredith turns her attention to Derek. "Do you think you can board it up before tonight?"

"If I can find my tools. At least temporarily, and then we can get a professional – why?"

"Because I don't want her to sleep in here if it's not boarded up," Meredith admits. "I trust her, but …"

Her voice trails off. _But I don't want to risk it._ She's a mother; she's been calculating risk since the first time someone placed Zola in her arms. She had to ask then: _how dangerous is it for me to fall in love with this child?_

Meredith and Derek exchange a glance. Zola is sitting cross-legged now, pad on her lap, pink lips pursed, as she works methodically through her math problem. Every once in a while, she frees a hand to stroke the soft purple rug.

They don't exchange any words yet, but the meaning is unfortunately clear: _if she doesn't get to sleep in her new room the first night in the new place … heaven help us all._

"I'll start looking," Derek says quickly then, just as Meredith says: "Let's find that toolbox."

…

"We can't find the toolbox," Zola announces glumly, joining Meredith and a slowly waking Bailey in the family room. Bailey is grumbling, one hand fisted in his mother's hair, but he manages half a smile for his big sister. Zola pats his slightly matted head and climbs up onto the couch.

"Is Daddy still looking?" Meredith asks.

Zola nods.

"Then he might still find it."

"Yeah, but …" Zola swings her feet. "It's almost dinnertime."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah, Daddy said."

In the silence, there's a faint growling sound.

"And your tummy says it too," Zola adds, grinning.

"I think you're right." Standing up, Meredith hefts Bailey onto her hip and reaches out a hand to Zola. They find Derek in the living room, half his torso vanished into a large box.

"Can't find it." He pulls back, his face slightly reddened from the inversion. "I looked everywhere it could be."

"I'm sorry." Meredith glances at Zola, who doesn't seem to make the connection about her room quite yet, and then sets a now awake Bailey on his feet.

"We could go out and buy one," Meredith suggests tentatively, waiting until Zola is occupied climbing onto a child-sized rocking horse and Bailey is clapping joyfully for her.

"We could. But it's getting so late already."

"It is." Meredith pauses. "We could eat."

"We _could_." Derek smiles at her. "I'll fire up the grill. You did a great job with the grocery order."

"What grocery order?"

Derek's brow knits. "Weren't you the one who ordered the food?"

"I didn't order anything. I figured we'd – call for pizza or something." Meredith shakes her head. "Why, what did – "

The large refrigerator in the kitchen is stocked with meat and fish for the grill, zucchini and eggplant, even the crisper drawer is full.

"Wow," Meredith says.

"Home sweet home?" Derek grins at her. "How about you keep those two from setting the house on fire, and I'll make dinner happen?"

"Perfect."

 _Perfect. That's what happy families are like. I mean, take the Brady Bunch. There's a happy family – one of the only ones I saw, growing up. I loved it. And sure, they needed full time domestic help and a stay at home mom at the same time just to keep all six kids in those very dated clothes and haircuts, but they smiled a lot and no one ever seemed alone. Everything was always clean and sparkling and everyone was always polite._

"Mine!" Bailey grabs for Zola's cup, watered-down juice sloshing over the side.

The sun set with alacrity and they're eating delicious dinner fresh from the grill while the open windows blow fresh spring air into the kitchen.

"Bailey, you have your own, sweetie," Meredith intervenes, detaching his little fingers from the pink handles, "and this is why it has a lid." Bailey responds with a howl that would make a werewolf proud and Meredith braves his toddler wrath to wipe his sticky face and hands.

"I think he's getting tired." Derek lifts their son out of the high chair. "What do you think, buddy? Bedtime?"

The volume of Bailey's response suggests Derek has just proposed feeding him to a shark.

"Okay, you can have my cup," Zola concedes, holding it out, but Bailey shakes his head vigorously, then buries his face in Derek's shoulder.

"That's nice of you, sweetie." Meredith wraps an arm around Zola, who's climbed down from her chair to lean against her. "He's just overtired."

"I'm pretty tired myself," Derek says from the other side of the kitchen; he's been pacing with Bailey, rubbing his back, and the little boy has already calmed down significantly.

"I'll get him ready."

"Daddy … what about my new room?" Zola's lower lip trembles.

Meredith and Derek exchange a hesitant glance.

"Sweetie, as soon as we get the dumbwaiter boarded up, you can sleep there," Derek says.

"But I want to sleep there tonight!"

Bailey peers from between his fingers at his older sister. Zola's tears are rare enough that he seems to think she needs his support, so he offers a loud wail.

"Guys. _Guys._ " Derek hands a weeping Bailey to Meredith and kneels down in front of Zola. "It's okay. We have an idea."

"You do?" Zola sniffles, her tears subsiding as fast as they came. "What is it?"

"We do. It's … well…." Derek glances at Meredith, who's cuddling a weepy Bailey and frankly curious to hear the idea herself. "Mer…?" He shoots her a look halfway between gratitude and desperation. "Why don't you tell them?"

"Okay, I'll tell them." Meredith pauses, buying some time, bouncing her son a little on her hip. "Okay, so … here it is."

"I _can_ sleep in my new room," Zola interrupts darkly. " _That_ should be your idea."

"Well, it's not, Zo, but listen and you might like this one. Here it is. How about … _nobody_ sleeps in their new room?"

Zola's mouth opens in protest, then closes and her little brow furrows. "Wait – what?"

"Nobody sleeps in their new room," Meredith repeats.

"But you and Daddy don't have a dumbwaiter in your room," Zola says.

"We don't have a dumbwaiter in our room," Meredith confirms.

"And Bailey doesn't either."

"And Bailey doesn't either," Derek repeats, shooting Meredith a look of pure gratitude, "but we're a team, so that means if one of us has a dumbwaiter, then all of us have a dumbwaiter."

Zola giggles a little at the still-funny new word, then pauses. "But … then if we can't sleep in my room … or your room … or Bailey's room, where are we going to sleep tonight?"

..

"How does it look?" Derek asks, a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

Meredith glances around the room. It's on the second floor, and it's … well. It fits the bill. She's actually not sure what this room is supposed to be. A guest room? An office? But whatever its intent, it's empty with a thick enough rug to make up for uninspiring beige color.

There's a door so Bailey won't run off, and carpeting to make it somewhat soft under the two narrow sleeping bags Derek scrounged up, one the bright orange of a hunting vest, the other khaki.

 _Appearances matter. How do I know that? Well, it wasn't just Carol Brady who taught me about happy families. There was a girl in my class in elementary school – Tracey Willoughby. Her mother stayed home and kept their house beautiful. Tracey's dresses were perfectly pressed and her shoes were always shined. Her brother wore little bow ties. When her mother picked Tracey up from school – while I walked – her mom always looked perfect too, with her hair all shiny and pretty jewelry on. Everyone smiled a lot. Like, all the time. And Mrs. Willoughby baked her own brownies. Brownies!_

 _She also ran away with the landscaper when we were in the eighth grade. But right up until then … perfect._

"I think it looks great," Meredith tells him, hoping the doubt isn't creeping into her voice.

"Are those all our sleeping bags?" Zola asks worriedly.

"All the ones I found quickly," Derek says. "So we'll have to share."

"Derek," Meredith tugs lightly on his sleeve, "this is a little … I mean, there's a king-sized bed in our room. We could all be comfortable in there."

"True." He pauses. "Yeah, you're right. Let's just – "

"Mommy, Daddy, look!"

They turn to see Zola beaming proudly, Bailey next to her looking equally satisfied. They've spread the two sleeping bags out in a sort of cross. Getting access to pillow _or_ covers will require lining the family up in what can best be called a pinwheel structure.

Meredith glances at Derek.

Derek glances at the sleeping bags.

"Is this how you pictured our first night?" Derek murmurs, close to her ear.

"Not at all." She reaches up to touch the side of his face. "What can I say? You're full of surprises."

Then she smiles at Zola. "Looks great," Meredith says heartily. "Okay, it's late! Everyone in bed."

"In _bag_ ," Derek corrects her quietly, and she gives him a gentle shove.

There's a fair amount of pushing, wriggling, and cuddling, some of each of the above even mutual, before silence descends.

"Everyone's in? I'm going to hit the light," Derek announces. Meredith sees he's holding the cord in his hand.

At their approving noises, he clicks it.

And the room descends into darkness.

Total darkness.

Like … black hole darkness.

Except much louder than a black hole, because Zola whimpers nervously, and Derek is rustling the sleeping bag's waterproof fabric, seemingly trying to get to her, and Bailey is wriggling breathily on top of Meredith, calling her name loudly.

"Okay. It's okay!" Derek calls, for all their benefit apparently, then lowers his voice. "Zozo, I've got you. Okay, we'll find a way to make it less … dark."

Bailey sniffles a little into Meredith's neck and calms down, wriggling away from her.

"Your nightlight is here somewhere, sweetie," Derek continues soothingly, then pauses. "Well. The one in your new room is built-in. But I'm sure we can go through the boxes, and …"

His voice trails off.

"I'm okay," Zola sniffs.

"You are? You sure?"

"Yeah," she says bravely. "I don't need my nightlight if everyone stays here together."

"We're staying here together," Meredith assures her. "No one's going anywhere."

"Not when we can't see, anyway," Derek mutters next to her, for her ears only.

And then a few pinpricks of light filter down from the ceiling.

"Look, a skylight!" Zola's voice sounds enchanted. "It's so pretty!"

"Yeah, it is." Meredith reaches for Zola's hand. She ends up with one of her feet instead, but figures it's close enough.

"The clouds must have just parted," Derek says. "Look at those stars."

For a few moments everyone is silent, admiring them.

"It's like camping," Zola says. "Kind of. Right, Daddy?"

"Right, Zo."

"Wait. Who has Bailey?"

"I do!" Bailey announces.

"Stick close, buddy."

"'kay," Bailey says agreeably, and Meredith hears a rustling sound as he settles down again.

"Mommy … these sleeping bags are _loud._ "

Zola's breathing settles, then Meredith hears Bailey giggle, and Zola squeak with surprise.

 _I learned a few things from those observing those happy families. Carol Brady with her shiny helmet hair, Mrs. Willoughby with her home-baked brownies … I was watching you, and I listened. So. What are happy families like?_

 _Well, for one thing, happy families maintain proper boundaries between the authoritative parent and the obedient child. The parent is firm._

"Zozo," Derek says, "just, uh, just wondering … is there _any_ pillow over there left for me?"

 _The children obey unquestioningly._

"You can share with Mommy," Zola suggests sweetly.

 _Little boys in happy families … they always act like gentlemen. Chivalry isn't dead – these well behaved boys watch out for the ladies in their lives._

"Mommy, Bailey's foot is on my face," Zola complains, as some of the blankets billow around.

"No!" Bailey shouts.

"Bailey, take your foot off Zola's face," Meredith instructs.

"Now it's on my face," Derek interjects.

"I think that's his other foot," Zola says.

"How many feet does he have?"

 _Little girls in happy families … they're ladies in training: polite, demure, and soft-spoken. They shy away from anything unpleasant and use ladylike language at all times._

"Now Bailey's butt is on me," Zola giggles, and Meredith hears Derek muffle a snicker in response.

"Butt," their son repeats with delight, " _butt_ ," demonstrating his razor-sharp ability to repeat only the most offensive words in a given sentence.

"Just move him – _gently_ – toward me," Meredith suggests.

The moments that follow sound like two lions fighting over prey.

"That's better," Zola says happily.

"You good too, Bails?" Meredith asks a little nervously.

"Good," he repeats with equal parts cheerful and sleepy in his voice.

 _Above all, in happy families, the husband and wife must always be their best selves in front of each other, and the children. Decorum. Always decorum. They might discuss the weather, or upcoming holidays, but they avoid the vulgar at all costs._

"Bailey, you better not pee on me while we're sleeping," Zola says loudly.

"Sweetie…" Meredith fumbles for Zola's hand and ends up with – someone's foot instead. "He's wearing a pull-up," she assures her daughter.

Silence descends.

"You put on his pullup, right?" Meredith asks, turning in what she thinks is Derek's direction.

"I thought you did," Derek's voice responds from her other side.

"Um…"

"Did _anybody_ put on his pullup?" Zola asks, sounding panicked.

"It's okay, Zozo," Derek says quickly. "We'll just do it now, and what are the odds that he's going to – "

He stops speaking.

"Mommy?" Meredith feels a cold little hand gripping her leg. " _Wet._ "

"You're not the only one, buddy," Derek says, sounding like he's trying not to laugh.

 _In happy families, the mother and father set flawless examples at all times. Children won't be perfect if their parents aren't, after all. So maintain your appearance, your authority, and above all else … your dignity._

"I'll change him," Derek says.

"You're so tired. I'll do it," Meredith offers.

"You're tired too."

"True."

For a moment neither of them speaks.

"Just hypothetically," Derek says, "and I'm not saying I want to, but you know, scientifically speaking … how bad do you think it would be if neither of us changed him and we all just went to sleep?"

Meredith opens her mouth to respond … but only laughter comes out.

Derek joins in, and then Zola. Bailey is the last to crack up, slapping his little hands delightedly on the wet spot on the sheet, making Zola yell, "yuck!" in between fits of giggles.

 _And that's what happy families are like._

* * *

 **Okay, I couldn't resist. I just love the McFamily's McFamily Time. That said, as much as I've enjoyed moving day - and moving night - the next chapter will involve a little time jump. There will always be hefty doses of fluff, but Meredith and Derek are serious about using this time for their family, and that means the hard stuff as well the fun. So happy you're on this journey with me. I hope you will review because I love hearing what you think. See you next time!**

 **PS The end monologue/scenes are inspired by an episode of _Once and Again,_ a seriously underrated show (on which Patrick Dempsey had a remarkable series of guest appearances), involving different characters reading out loud from a stuffy wedding guide in voiceover while very nontraditional but loving _actual_ wedding preparations took place. **


	10. want and need

**A/N: Trailblazing is back!** Thank you so much to everyone who read and reviewed and asked about it during its unintended hiatus. I let the Christmas story kind of fill the Trailblazing gap in my drafts but I missed the real Trailblazing, and so now I'm back on the trail. (How many times can I say trail in this author's note?) I'm excited about this chapter and where this story is going.

This chapter is for Patsy, MerDer2015, and all the devoted MerDer readers who gave me a chance with their ship. I hope you like this chapter.

* * *

 **..Want and Need..**

* * *

 _You know those little kids who walk around with baby dolls in their arms, maybe push a toy stroller around, feed them plastic bottles of milk and pretend to burp them or whatever?_

 _Yeah. That wasn't me._

 _I … had a doctor's kit. Not the red plastic one some of the other kids had, but an actual old leather bag that I used to fill up when I visited my mother's office. Don't worry, I never took any syringes or anything, but I had all sorts of tongue depressors and cotton balls and bandages. I'd carry it around with me._

 _There's a picture of me – I'm about four, and I'm wearing these yellow bathing suit bottoms and that's all – and I'm holding the old doctor's bag over my shoulder. And I look happy. I might not have known how to read yet, I might not have stopped wandering around topless yet … but you can tell I already knew what I was going to become._

"… a surgeon," she finishes. She glances at Derek, seated next to her on the counselor's couch.

"Of course." The therapist nods. "But you're not working here in the DMV?"

Meredith fights a smile the way she always does at that particular acronym. "No," she says.

"She could be," Derek interjects. "She has any number of offers. When GW found out she was – "

"It's okay, Derek." Meredith rests her hand on his arm. "I don't think the counselor is going to think I'm a bad doctor just because I'm not working right now." She pauses. " _Do_ you think I'm a bad doctor?" she asks.

"Do _you_ think you're a bad doctor?" the counselor asks gently.

"No," Meredith says.

The counselor doesn't say anything else.

"I haven't gone this long without working before," Meredith admits after a moment. "Ever."

The counselor nods. "How is that for you?"

"It's … different." She glances around at the pastel walls as if they hold answers.

Therapy is – yeah.

It's something.

She wants to be here. She wants to work on her marriage, and she's grateful that Derek does too. And she has no complaints about any of the homework assignments she's received so far.

(Especially the ones they've done twice.)

"What has it been like?" the therapist asks gently. "Perhaps you'd like to share something about your time … not working."

"…sure," Meredith says reluctantly. Next to her, Derek reaches for her hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze. She pauses. "Like, uh, like … what?"

The therapist smiles. "Anything you'd like. Maybe you have something to share from the week that just passed. You were home with the children?"

"Right."

It sounds strange, like that. _Home with the children._ Like she should be wearing pearls and making a roast and being all … fifties and wholesome.

When the truth is she's not even quite sure what a roast is and the only time she's worn pearls since she met Derek it wasn't for anything wholesome.

Or even close.

"Meredith?" Derek touches her leg lightly. "Are you – "

"I'm fine." She glances at Derek, and then back to the therapist.

And then at her surroundings. The room is very … pastel. Someone, somewhere, must have decided that pastels make people want to talk.

She can hear the clock ticking.

She can _hear_ awkwardness. Even though she's sitting in a room with the least judgmental person she's ever met – the therapist, that is, Derek is plenty judgmental and she wouldn't have married him if not. It's part of his charm.

"Perhaps you'd like Derek to share first," the therapist suggests.

Meredith glances at her husband. He gives her an encouraging smile.

She takes a deep breath. "Actually, I do have something to share. Well, two things actually."

"Two things. Go ahead."

Meredith nods. "The first one is that – well, you know Zola started her new school. There's a chartered bus but it's just her second week, you know, so I've been picking her up. There's a – playground thing where the kids hang out while the parents watch. And she was happy to see me."

She smiles at the memory of her daughter running to her, the jacket of her colorful uniform blowing in the spring breeze. _Mommy, you came!_ She said that the first two times.

And the third.

By the fourth, she seemed to expect it.

Today was the seventh time. Meredith got a big smile and a wave – but Zola stayed on the playground. Like she knew Meredith would be there waiting for her.

"I'm grateful that Meredith could pick her up," Derek says. His fingers fold through hers. "And I know Zola loves seeing her. But I … don't need her to do that, if she wants to work, and I support whatever she – what?" He breaks off at Meredith's look.

"Nothing, Derek, it's just you don't need to convince me you're not trying to keep me barefoot and pregnant. I already know you're not."

Derek looks like he'd have a different response if they weren't in the therapist's office right now, and Meredith finds herself stifling her own smile.

"I don't think you're a … caveman," she amends. "And our therapist doesn't think so either." She pauses, glancing at the therapist for confirmation.

"I don't think that," the therapist says, her face perfectly composed.

She glances at Derek, who looks like he's having even more trouble stifling a response now that the word _caveman_ is in play.

"So that's the first thing," Meredith says hastily. "And the second thing – well, the second is about Bailey. He stacked all six of his rainbow blocks yesterday."

"Six." Derek turns to her. "All six – really?"

She nods. "All six."

"Huh." Derek looks impressed. "I didn't know that."

"I did." Meredith squeezes his hand reassuringly. "Because I was there. I saw him do it. I wouldn't have seen him do it if he'd been at day care."

 _I was never going to be the girl who was happy rocking a baby doll and shoving a fake bottle in its mouth. I was going to be a doctor. And doctors don't do that._

 _Surgeons definitely don't do that._

 _Surgeons need to cut. Even when they want to do something else … they need to cut._

"They're not major things," Meredith says, thinking about the two moments she shared. "It's just that I was there to see both of them. And Zola – I mean, she doesn't have that many years left of being happy to see me."

Derek frowns. "That's not true."

"I see the older kids at her school. They're not doing a lot of tackle-hugs."

"That's probably a good thing," Derek says. She elbows him, he elbows her back gently, and they exchange a smile.

"So you don't want to go back to work," the counselor suggests.

"No," Meredith says. "I do want to work. I spent eight years in school before I was even an intern. I'm _still_ in school. I will be for the rest of my career; all doctors are. All that time, all that money, all that … surgery. I do want to work. I _need_ to work."

Derek nods, looking unsurprised.

Which makes sense, considering how hungrily she's peppered him with questions about his project. She's interested because she loves him, of course, but she's also interested because no matter how many lego structures she builds with her children, there's a part of her brain – a part of _her_ – that needs to be stimulated.

Stimulated with surgery.

And you can make whatever dirty joke you want – Derek and Meredith both have, certainly – but that stimulation is something they have in common. Something they share.

Something that brought them together.

"So you do want to go back to work," the counselor proposes.

"No," Meredith says. "I want to pick Zola up from school. I want to build blocks with Bailey."

The counselor looks confused.

"I want to do everything," Meredith admits, "I want to do all of it."

Derek squeezes her hand.

"Maybe you don't need to make a permanent decision," the counselor points out, "or even a short-term one. You could just make a temporary one."

"What do you mean?"

"You can go back to work whenever you want," she suggests, "whenever you're ready, and you can decide that as it comes. You _plural_ ," she amends.

Meredith and Derek exchange a glance.

"In a marriage, each spouse's career choices intimately affect the other spouse," the therapist says.

Meredith can't argue with that; she has a house in Maryland – Maryland! – to prove it.

"Derek, I know you support Meredith – "

"I do," he says quickly.

" – making up her own mind about when to go back to work, and where," the counselor continues, smiling. "Do you see yourself as part of that choice?"

Derek glances at Meredith. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"You're here because of your job," the therapist explains. "Your wife and children are here because of your job. From what you've told me, taking the job was your choice."

Derek looks troubled; now Meredith squeezes his hand.

"We could have come out to join him sooner," Meredith offers, wanting to make the sad look leave his eyes.

"Certainly," the therapist says, "and Derek could have passed up the job opportunity. There are many choices each of us _could have_ made. I'm just confirming that the job, here, was Derek's choice."

"It was my choice," Derek says quietly.

"Is it possible, then, that you've backed away from Meredith's career choices because you feel you – forgive the colloquialism – owe her one?"

Meredith's brow furrows. When she glances at Derek, she sees his head is tilted as he considers the therapist's question.

"I don't know," he says finally. "I'm sorry, it sounds like a cop-out – and maybe it is a cop-out – but I don't know."

"Do you have a preference?" the therapist asks. "On Meredith going back to work."

"Do I have a preference?" Derek looks from Meredith to the therapist. "I support her. Whatever she wants to do. Is that a preference?"

"It's a position," the therapist says. "It's not a preference."

Derek shifts slightly on the couch. "Meredith is an incredible surgeon," he says finally. "I've had the privilege – I've seen her grow, and I've seen what she can do. As a surgeon, as a teacher, my preference is for great surgeons to cut. It's what they're trained to do. It's what Meredith was trained to do." He turns to Meredith now, taking her hand. "As a husband, my preference is for her to be happy. As a father, my preference is for all of us to be happy, my children – I know how much they love having Meredith with them." He pauses. "They love having both of us with them. Maybe I should quit my job."

Meredith laughs a little at this. "One of us should probably work."

"We could join the circus. We already have the trapeze." Derek folds his fingers through hers. "When we first moved here, you said you wanted to take a little time – not take the first job offer, not just get installed at GW. You wanted to wait until you felt inspired."

Meredith nods.

"I just assumed you'd tell me once you were … inspired," he says.

"Derek," the counselor says, "why do we avoid assuming?"

"Because _assuming is the opposite of communicating_ ," Derek recites dutifully, "although I'm not really sure if – " he stops talking at Meredith's raised eyebrow. "Never mind. I'm just saying, I understand wanting to wait for inspiration. This job, this move – inspired me. I know what it's like to want to be inspired. We work a lot," he continues, turning back to the therapist. "Long hours, long days, long nights. A lot. A little inspiration isn't too much to ask."

"Is that how you feel?" the therapist asks, looking at Meredith.

"I want to be inspired," she says. "In some ways, I am inspired. I just … didn't think I'd be inspired by picking up my kid from school."

Derek smiles at this.

"You don't have to make any decisions today," the therapist says. "You can take it one day at a time. You have it."

"Have what?" Derek asks.

"Time," the therapist says. "You have time."

Meredith squeezes her husband's hand. _Time_. It's what she flew across the country for, isn't it?

…

"I like her," Derek declares as he turns over the engine. "I think she's smart."

"Smart-smart, or not-a-doctor-smart?" Meredith asks.

"That is … not a fair question." He rests his hand on the back of Meredith's headrest. "Thank you for finding her," he says. "And for going to see her with me."

"Thank _you_ for going to see her with _me_ ," Meredith says.

"And thank you for coming out here. I know it's been – different."

"You've already thanked me, Derek. You've thanked me enough. You don't have to thank me anymore."

"What if I feel grateful?"

"Then you can thank me." Meredith holds up a hand as he starts to speak. "Preferably with something more creative than the words _thank you_."

He raises an eyebrow. "Creative solutions? I'm all for it. We can report on it at next week's session."

"Session of what?" Meredith teases, then pauses. "Inspiration," she says, recalling their homework assignment for this week.

They're supposed to find something that inspires them.

"Actually," Derek says, leaning a little closer, "I'm feeling pretty inspired right now."

"Is that what you're calling it these days?" She laughs and he takes advantage of her parted lips to steal a kiss. The next one she hands over without any burglary necessary.

Derek's hands slide into her hair; she runs hers up his shoulders to move even closer.

"We should wait," she says breathlessly, pulling back.

"We should," Derek agrees, his eyes a little glazed. She feels his lips on her neck.

"Derek – that's not waiting."

"It's not? Then I take it back," he says, pulling her even closer. "I no longer want to wait."

She laughs, kissing him again, enjoying the feel of his hands at her waist. "We're in the parking garage," she murmurs.

"We are," Derek agrees, between kisses.

"We're in the therapist's parking garage," she adds.

"We're de-briefing," Derek says, sliding his hands under her shirt. "Weren't you saying something in therapy tonight about my being a … cave man?"

She laughs in spite of herself.

And then she stops laughing.

Because being all together, across the country, is great.

It's wonderful.

It's perfect.

But being _alone_ together, sometimes?

Well.

She doesn't have a word for that.

And if she did, she probably wouldn't remember it at this point, because –

"Hey!"

Meredith yelps as a loud knock on the window interrupts them.

Quickly, she pulls her shirt back down, climbing off Derek's lap and back into her seat.

There's another knock on the window.

Praying she's smoothed her hair out enough to seem innocent, she gestures to Derek to open the window. He's breathing raggedly, his curls wild from her fingers, but he does so.

"Yes?" he says, with an impressive amount of dignity, considering.

A couple, both carrying large briefcases stands impatiently outside the window. "Do you mind moving your … whatever this is?" the woman asks.

"You're blocking our car," the man points out.

"Of course," Derek says. "I'll move it right now."

"Thanks," the woman says, more than a little sarcasm under her smile.

"God, I hate sharing a building with a bunch of therapists," they overhear the man mutter as the couple walks away.

Meredith and Derek wait until they're alone again to start laughing.

…

"Did you have a good date last night?" Zola asks brightly the next morning, spooning patterns into her cereal.

"We did," Meredith says, smiling at her.

Mrs. Rollins – or Mrs. Poppins, as Derek can't seem to resist calling her – spent the evening with the children last night, as she has for each of their evening therapy sessions. Meredith isn't sure where Zola got the idea that her parents were going out on dates during these times, but she isn't about to break it to her just-past-the-princess-stage daughter that her parents are actually grabbing hasty dinners scheduled around marriage counseling.

Not that marriage counseling isn't romantic.

In a way – in a weird way – it's actually pretty romantic.

And the part in the parking garage wasn't bad either.

"… and after that we have a program in the planetarium," Zola is saying as Meredith refills her coffee.

"Field trip?" Derek asks, reaching over to catch Bailey's rubber-handled spoon before he can throw it. Frustrated, their son settles for throwing a handful of cheerios instead.

"No, it's at school," Zola says.

"You have a planetarium at school?" Derek's eyes widen. "School has really changed since I was your age."

"It's a small one," Meredith explains.

"It's a _one_." Derek shakes his head. "It really is quite a school."

"Eternity set up the interview," Meredith reminded him, "and she did spend some time getting to know Zola first."

"My school is the best," Zola says happily. She kneels up on her chair, about to start another story, when she pauses. "I like my school in Seattle, too."

"You can like both places," Derek assures her. "We're here for now, and it's … good to like where you are now."

Zola looks relieved as she starts up her story, using her spoon for emphasis. "And after _that_ , Ms. Piper is going to – "

Bailey bangs his fists loudly on his tray, interrupting. "Out, out!" he yells.

"You're not really selling the ready-to-move-out-a-high-chair thing, buddy," Derek says mildly, standing up to free his son from the straps that contain him.

Bailey calms as soon as he's out of the high chair, turning to Meredith with a wide smile. "School," he says, "me too."

Zola shakes her head. "He's too little for my school."

"It's okay, Zozo, he has his own school," Meredith assures her, but Bailey still cries when they drop his sister off.

Zola lingers at the car, saying goodbye to him. Meredith is touched by her sisterly affection … and aware there's a line of cars, and a young woman trying to urge Zola inside.

"Go in now, Zozo." Meredith leans over for a goodbye kiss. "I'll be here later to pick you up."

"I know," Zola says cheerfully, closing the car door behind her.

…

 _Inspiration._

Maybe it will come to her now, during the quietest period of her day. With Zola in school and Bailey in preschool, Meredith is free to page through the _Journal of Neurology_ to stay up to date, to scan her emails where offers to connect are frequent.

Everyone knows someone who knows someone who knows … someone.

And she appreciates it.

But that doesn't mean it's inspiring.

That's when her phone rings –

And then _inspiration_ is the last thing on her mind.

…

"What do you mean, she fainted?" Meredith is jogging down the linoleum hospital floor, breathless. "Fainted how?"

Derek is already in the exam room when Meredith gets there, the proximity of headquarters to his benefit.

"Zozo!" Meredith feels like she could faint herself, with pure relief, to see her daughter sitting up on the table, swinging her little sneakered feet. "Zozo, are you okay?"

Derek steps aside so Meredith can embrace their daughter, leaning back to hold her small face between her hands. "How are you feeling, sweetie?"

"I'm okay," Zola says. "I'm good."

"Hold still, Zozo." Derek has seemingly summoned a penlight out of thin air and is studying Zola's eyes.

"We want a full workup," Derek announces to the assembled medical team.

"I thought you might." The doctor closest to Zola, a pretty young woman with long dark hair, smiles conspiratorially at her young patient. "Both my parents are doctors too," she tells Zola. "So I get it. They worry."

"We don't worry," Derek says, frowning. He pauses. "We worry," he admits. He's still touching Zola's head, looking in her eyes.

"I don't understand how this happened," Meredith says, still feeling a bit like the elevator skipped a story.

She knows Zola was in the planetarium with her classmates, watching the stars. One minute she was ooh-ing and ahh-ing along with the other children, and the next minute –

"I was on the floor," Zola says, a note of pride in her voice.

Meredith shakes her head. Trying to stay calm, she turns to Derek. "Was she sitting down?" she asks quietly. "Before?"

"No. It's a stand-up planetarium, right, Zo?" Derek smiles at their daughter, his tone calmer now.

"Yeah."

"And she's been in it before," Meredith says to the young doctor. "Without any issues." She turns to her husband for help.

"How about that MRI?" Derek asks.

…

"Diplomat's Flu," Derek repeats, trying on the name for size.

"Climate-adjusted one-time neurocardiogenic syncope," the doctor says, "but yes … Diplomat's Flu for short."

"It's not uncommon. Not here, anyway." There are a team of doctors in the viewing room now, while their daughter reads her book quietly in the care of a nurse, looking perfectly healthy, through the two-way screen.

"The humidity and the heat, even in the springtime – the school uniform, standing up, tilting her head back – we see it all the time. Diplomats' kids – well, you get the idea."

"Is it going to happen again?" Meredith asks nervously.

"Hopefully not."

"She'll get used to DC," another doctor assures her.

Derek looks less doubtful now, having reviewed all the scans. They speak with the team for a while longer, Derek listening more to the peds representatives than those from neuro, agree that Zola should rest and hydrate and then … they're alone.

"I hate that she fainted," he admits once the doctors have left.

"I know. I do too."

"You think she's allergic to DC?"

"I really don't." Meredith leans into him for a moment. "Let's go get our future diplomat."

…

Ice cream is the surest cure for Diplomat's Flu, according to the youngest doctor on the team, so that's where they head next, much to Zola's delight. With Bailey in Mrs. Poppins's emergency care, it's just the three of them.

"I'm sorry," Zola says, hanging onto one of either of their hands as they walk toward the parlor she decided a week ago was her favorite.

"You have nothing to be sorry about, Zozo." Derek smiles down at her. "But you're not allowed to faint again."

She nods agreeably.

"Zola's not in charge of her autonomic nervous system," Meredith reminds her husband. "If she needs to faint, she needs to faint."

"I'm a doctor too," Derek reminds her, looking amused. "If you'd forgotten."

Meredith raises an eyebrow.

" _Can_ I faint again?" Zola asks, sounding genuinely curious, and somewhat surprised that her parents disagree.

"If you need to," Derek says reluctantly.

Zola seems satisfied with this result, and orders a strawberry cone to seal the deal.

Her little feet swing from the stool as she licks her way across the pink cone, occasionally offering her parents bites.

"This is _really_ good medicine," she says when she's made her way down to the cone, a pink mustache above her smiling mouth.

"She's okay," Derek says quietly when Meredith leans into him, watching their daughter enjoy her ice cream but feeling overwhelmed for some reason.

"She's okay," Meredith repeats, and leans forward to accept the bite of ice cream Zola offers.

…

Zola insists on going to school the next morning – they expected no less; she's bright-eyed and energetic and seems very much herself.

"What are you going to do if you're in the auditorium, or the planetarium?"

"Take off my jacket," Zola recites obediently at drop-off.

"And if you feel warm – or tired – or funny at all …?"

"I'll tell a teacher," Zola says. "I promise. Can I go now?"

"Yes, you can go now." Meredith accepts a hug and a kiss goodbye and watches Zola on the playground and then in her morning lineup until the traffic forces her to drive away.

"I didn't faint today," Zola reports brightly at dinner.

"That's the kind of news I like to hear," Derek says, smiling at her.

They're eating outside, enjoying the late spring weather – it's humid, but at least it's not buggy – yet – and it's nice to be in the fresh air.

Bailey waves his half ear of corn enthusiastically in response.

"We talked about it at school today," Zola reports, "during circle time." She takes a big bite of chicken, chews, and swallows before she speaks again, giving Derek some time to add more salad to her plate.

"You did?" Meredith and Derek exchange a glance.

"Uh-huh." Zola nods, taking a sip of milk. She gives her brother a sidelong glance and then blows a few bubbles through her pink straw.

Bailey reacts as if she's just pulled a rabbit out of a hat, shrieking with delight.

"'Cause everyone was there when I fainted. Ms. Piper said lots of people faint for lots of reasons and did anyone have anything to share about that."

"Did they?" Derek asks.

Zola nods again. "Carter's mom fainted when she was pregnant and also she didn't have breakfast. And Michiko said she fainted once 'cause she has diabetes and I already knew that 'cause she has a special pump she wears every day."

She says all of this in one breath, then takes another Dash said he faints sometimes _and_ has seizures 'cause he has Marbles Syndrome."

Derek frowns. "Not Marlborough?"

"That's what I said." Zola shrugs. "Dash just moved here, like me. He's nice." She pauses. "Can I have more strawberries?"

Derek and Meredith exchange a glance.

They don't have to speak to know what the other is thinking. Marlborough is rare, and far more rare in children.

Rare … and degenerative.

She's only seen one case herself, and it was a woman in her late twenties. It was memorable enough that she remembers only a handful of surgeons are willing to attempt the delicate procedure that can stop the progression.

The patient Meredith recalls didn't make it. And she was in her late twenties. A fully developed brain.

She was weakened, though from the degenerative properties of the disease.

If there were a way to halt the progression before that point … say, in childhood ….

But they don't know enough even to guess. Not yet.

"Where did Dash move from?" Derek asks casually.

"California," Zola reports. "Ms. Piper says we're on the same time zone."

Meredith smiles at this.

"But before that he was somewhere else … I think Massachusetts," Zola says. "Or maybe Minnesota." Her small face scrunches up. "Or both."

Meredith's heart speeds up.

The Berkeley Children's Institute. Boston Infants'. And Mayo.

Zola's just named the only three institutions who've ever tried to treat Marlborough in childhood. The only three who ever would.

"He's moved around a lot," Meredith says, adding some more fruit to her daughter's plate, and handing Bailey a new half-cob of corn when he tosses the first to the ground. "Is it for his parents' work, like you?"

Zola shakes her head. "It's 'cause he was sick. He didn't have an operation, though," she says thoughtfully. "He told me he was maybe gonna but he didn't."

She takes another pink-strawed sip of milk.

"Can we play Twister tonight? I mean if Bailey doesn't put his foot on my face again?" Zola asks.

"We can play Twister," Derek says, "but I can't speak for your brother."

Bailey claps happily at the inclusion of his name.

"I guess it's okay if he steps on me if he doesn't do it too hard," Zola muses.

"Maybe a less … physical game, tonight," Derek suggests. "Checkers. Candyland. Rugby," he adds under his breath, making Meredith smile. Family Twister nights are never uneventful.

"So Dash didn't have his operation?" Meredith asks, keeping her tone casual. Conversational.

"Right," Zola says. "Dash said his mom was sad when they moved here."

She pauses to pat her own milk mustache away.

"It sounds like you and Dash have talked a lot," Derek observes.

"Dash sits out at relay," Zola explains, "and me and Avery take turns sitting with him and we talk and stuff."

"Did the teacher ask you to do that?" Meredith asks, curious.

"Uh-uh." Zola shakes her head no, her braids swinging. "We just wanted to. 'Cause we'd want someone to talk to us if we had to sit out."

Meredith's throat feels thick, touched by her daughter's empathy.

"Mommy." Zola is pointing. "Bailey dropped his corn again."

Meredith looks from one of her healthy, smiling children to the other.

Then she looks at Derek.

Then Derek looks at her.

"Zozo?"

"Yeah?" She looks up from her strawberries at her mother.

"What's Dash's last name?"

…

"Mommy _and_ Daddy!" Zola beams, looking from one of them to the other the next afternoon. "You both came to get me!"

"We both came." Meredith smiles down at her daughter.

"Zozo," Derek says, as his daughter shrugs out of her backpack and places it in his arms, "which one is Dash?"

"Um … that one," Zola says, pointing to a blond boy who is currently sitting on the tire swing by himself.

"How come he's not playing with the other kids?"

"He gets tired," Zola explains, "like I said before, so he takes breaks, but that's okay 'cause everyone is different and everyone moves at their own speed."

Derek glances at Meredith, who shrugs slightly, assuming she's hearing the words of Zola's beloved teacher.

"Can I go back and play now? We're allowed 'til the big hand's on the six …." She looks longingly at the playground.

"Of course." Derek tugs lightly on one of her pigtails. "We'll be right here."

They watch their daughter scamper back to the playground. Meredith is touched to see that Zola stops in front of the solitary blond boy. From her expansive gestures, Meredith supposes Zola is telling him a story. After a few minutes, and a shout of _Zola, come on!_ , their daughter returns to the wooden ladder and shimmies her way up.

"It's a little high," Derek says, frowning at the playground.

"It's a ladder," Meredith replies patiently. "And you saw it when we visited the school."

"I think it's grown since then."

"This is Maryland, not Three Mile Island. Nothing grows unless it's supposed to."

"Spoken like a doctor who's been away from the lab for too long," Derek teases, and then both of them are silent for a moment, remembering the reason for their joint trip to Zola's school.

At that moment, as if summoned, a blonde woman approaches the gate. She's tall and angular, a large bag slung over her shoulder. Meredith sees the woman study the playground, sees the way her gaze falls on the small blond boy on the tire swing.

"Excuse me," Meredith says gently, and the woman turns.

"Yes?"

"You're Dash's mother?" Derek confirms.

The woman nods, looking uncertainly from Derek to Meredith.

"We're Zola Grey-Shepherd's parents," Derek says, holding out a hand for the woman to shake – the hand not holding Zola's purple backpack. "Do you – have a moment to speak?"

 _Well._

 _What do you know?_

 _I guess sometimes just picking your kid up from school can be your inspiration after all._

* * *

 **To be continued - and not in six months either. Review and keep me motivated to update fast, and I will do my absolute best!**


	11. boxes and locks

**_A/N: Thank you so much for your reviews on the last chapter! I know it was a huge wait and I am so happy people are still reading this story. As the awesome MerDer2015 pointed out, today is Trailblazing's one-year anniversary. I was really excited about this story when I posted the first chapter - I loved the idea of turning Addison's iconic line on its head as a way for Meredith to take back her marriage and her family and, of course, to keep Season 11's fatal twist at bay. I really am enjoying exploring this version of the McFamily, and I hope you are too. Happy Birthday to this story and thank you for reading!_**

* * *

 **..Boxes and Locks..**

* * *

 _Every nice, red-blooded American girl knows it was FDR who said we have nothing to fear but fear itself. But actually, it was Sir Francis Not-So-Much-an-American Bacon who said it a little differently, first: nothing is terrible except fear itself. Probably those two guys were saying more or less the same thing. Fear is terrible. I mean, everyone knows that fear is terrifying. And everyone fears terrible things._

 _So it's understandable, then, that we don't exactly run toward fear. We hide from it. We hide our fears away and try to counter them with other things._

 _Love._

 _Hope._

 _Family._

 _But even when we hide them, fears don't disappear. Not completely._

"So." Derek turns the key over in the ignition. "We're supposed to talk about our fears."

"Homework," Meredith sighs, a little tired but in a productive way, like she's just exercised or something ridiculous like that – the way she usually feels after their sessions with the marriage counselor. She's come to treasure their rides home together as just another part of their counseling, one more chance to strengthen and rebuild. "All those years in school and we're still doing homework."

"It's not the best homework assignment we've gotten," Derek muses as he pulls out of the parking structure.

"That … is an understatement." Meredith watches the grey drizzly streets slip under the car. "I'd much prefer doing some of the _other_ kind of homework tonight."

"You took the words right out of my mouth," Derek says. He pauses. "Actually, we could try to combine the two. You know how you said once that you were always curious about – "

"Derek!" She shakes her head, laughing. "Nice try."

He turns to smile at her when a stoplight flashes red. "Just trying to get our homework done."

…

"Is your homework done, sweetie?"

"Yes." Zola smiles broadly. "And I read with Bailey, too."

" _My_ book," Bailey says, beaming up at his sister as she reports to their parents on their weekly evening in the care of their beloved Mrs. Rollins.

Meredith gazes at the brightly colored picture book clutched in their son's small hands. It's one Derek's mother sent for Zola a few years ago. The title is written in stacks of painted pink jellybeans: _I Am a Happy Little Girl._

"Well," Meredith says brightly, "that was nice of you to share."

"I gave it to him," Zola explains, "'cause I'm not little anymore, and he is."

Meredith and Derek exchange an amused look.

"That was very sweet of you, Zozo." Derek tugs gently on one of her braids. "Tell us about your homework. Was it hard?"

"No, it was really fun. I looked out of the telescope – Mrs. Rollins helped me."

"To see the stars?" Derek asks.

"To _feel_ the stars," Zola explains patiently. "It was in my homework book."

"…oh."

She takes her father's hand. "Want to see what I wrote?"

"You know, I really do." Derek widens his eyes at Meredith. "We'll be right back."

"Mama!" It hasn't escaped Bailey's notice that he's alone with Meredith now. He holds up the book in both his pudgy little hands.

"… right. You got it, sweetie." Meredith sits cross-legged on the soft carpet, Bailey scrambling into her lap, and she starts to read. " _I think I am the happiest girl in the whole world. I am so happy to be me."_

"Me," Bailey repeats, smiling widely. He pats his little belly.

"You," Meredith agrees, kissing the top of his head.

"More." Bailey taps the book firmly, and Meredith turns to the next page. " _Little girls like me are full of sunshine and …_ "

…

" … _and candy cane tulips,_ " Derek reads. "What exactly is a _candy cane tulip_? Is this a children's book or a relic from a bad trip at Woodstock?" He pauses. "Wait. Did Mrs. Poppins give this to him?"

"No, Derek." Meredith shakes her head, trying not to laugh. "First of all, it's Mrs. Rollins, and you know it. Second of all – your mother sent it. So any bad trips are attributable to her … and her alone."

"Oh." Derek looks at the book. "Well. I'm sure she meant to send it to Zola."

"She did send it to Zola, but our daughter happens to be a natural sharer."

"And our son … is a happy little girl?"

"Stop." She muffles her laughter until he drops the book and climbs onto the bed with her, pulling her close.

For a few moments they just get reacquainted, and then Derek leans back.

"Do you think I spend enough time with Bailey?"

"Hm?" Meredith is still a little distracted.

"Bailey. Do you think I spend enough time with him?"

"Well, no," Meredith says carefully, "but only because … what's _enough time_?"

"Are you a doctor or a lawyer?"

Meredith raises her eyebrows. "I'm a doctor who's been sued." She softens at the expression on her husband's face. "Derek … is this really because of that silly book?"

"No, of course not," he says. "It's just – you did say, when we moved here, that you wanted me to have more father-son time with Bailey."

"I did," she recalls, "but it's not because you did anything … wrong, or because you don't spend enough time with him. It's just that it's been different for him, because when Zola was his age, all our attention was focused on her."

"Right." Derek looks distracted, his fingers wrapped around the drawstring of her pants. "But I work a lot."

"You work a lot less here than you did in Seattle."

"A lot less … but still a lot."

Meredith tilts her head. "Derek, what are you worried about?"

"What do you mean?"

"Do you think he likes Zola's book because you work a lot? Really?"

"I don't know," he admits.

"Hey."

He looks up, his forlorn expression so much like Bailey's at times of tragedy like being encouraged to eat broccoli or reminded about bedtime. She brushes a lock of dark hair away from his eyes and cups his jaw with her hand.

"Bailey likes Zola's book for the same reason he likes Zola's bedroom and Zola's snacks and Zola's toys. Because he likes Zola."

"I know."

"But, Derek – if you want to have father-son time, I think that's great. Just don't do it because you're afraid he's a _happy little girl._ "

She laughs at the expression on his face and he tickles her in return. She settles back into arms then, relaxing.

"I'm not afraid," Derek says quietly.

"Good," Meredith responds on instinct, then pauses. "Of what?"

"Of – anything, with Bailey. I mean, wait, that's not right." Derek is holding her securely against him so she can't see his face, but she can hear his voice and knows him well enough to understand. "I'm afraid of everything. With Bailey, with Zola, with you. Because I love you, all of you, more than I – well. You know what I mean. I just meant I'm not afraid of – a book."

Meredith finds herself touched, realizing what he means. "Good," she says. She wraps her arms around her husband's waist. "Because the scary book box we keep in the closet is already getting crowded."

Now it's Derek's turn to laugh. "That thing is still active?"

Meredith nods. "I had to pack it when we left Seattle. You never know with Zola."

"No, you don't." Derek smiles at a memory she can't see – presumably the time Zola, at Bailey's age, happily paged through a stray medical journal with pictures of open wounds and then, in the same night, shrieked with fear at a children's copy of _The Three Little Pigs._

"In fairness," Meredith says, "assuming you're also thinking about the _Three Little Pigs_ incident, that story is pretty scary. There's animal abuse."

"Yeah, but it's animal on animal."

"Does that make it better?"

"Not for Zola, apparently." Derek sits up a little against the pillows, drawing Meredith with him. "And it still doesn't explain why _A Christmas Tale_ ended up in there. Or _Baby Duck Says Goodnight._ "

Meredith laughs a little, remembering. The box is probably three-quarters full now, locked away in their closet so Zola doesn't have to worry about the fears it contains.

Okay, the lock is a cute heart-shaped one she found in the hospital gift shop that doesn't actually lock anything, but the symbolism is there, and Zola seems to appreciate it.

"It would be nice if everyone could lock their fears up like that," Derek muses, seeming to read her mind as he so often does.

"Their little pigs – and their baby ducks, you mean?"

"Those too." Derek's face turns pensive. "To – close the loop," he says, "I do want more father-son time with Bailey, no matter how happy a little boy _or_ girl he is on any given day, but it's going to have to wait, isn't it?"

Meredith thinks about the box in the closet, locked up tight against their daughter's fears.

And the people who are coming over tomorrow, whose fears don't get a box.

And don't get a lock.

"Yeah." She sighs against his neck. "It's going to have to wait."

For long moments they just hold each other, preparing.

"Mer?"

"Hm?"

"Did you say Dash has a little sister?"

Meredith nods. "And she's Bailey's age," she says. "So they can play together while we – while we talk."

Derek is quiet for long moments. "What are the odds she's a tomboy?" he asks.

"Well, she has an older brother, but – oh, _stop_ it." She swats him, he grabs her hand in response and pulls her down against him.

Their fears may not be locked.

But their door is.

And so, before tomorrow brings new fears – they get a little homework of their own done.

…

The first thing she notices, when she opens the front door, is that Dries Bakker is very tall. And very blond.

And his wife, who they've already met, isn't much shorter. And the towheaded toddler on her hip looks at least a year older than Bailey – so either Meredith was wrong about their similar ages, or the Bakkers are just very imposing people.

Or they seem that way next to their son, who is just as blond and smiling shyly at Zola right now on the doorstep – but noticeably paler than his sister, and more frail than any of the other family members.

"It's so good to see you again." Meredith steps back so they can come inside. "We won't make the children stay in too long. It's such a beautiful day, and we have a really incredible sitter – "

"She's _magic_ ," Zola whispers to Dash, whose green eyes widen with interest.

"She seems magical," Derek corrects gently, "because she's so terrific with the kids."

Mrs. Rollins appears in the flesh then to introduce herself, charming the children in her typical way.

The Bakkers' daughter, Lillian, immediately struggles to be put down. She's quite a bit taller and larger than Bailey, who looks a little intimidated. She grabs their son's hand. " _Balls_ ," she says urgently, and Meredith feels Derek nudge her, just slightly, and has to fight a smile.

"Zola and Bailey have lots of balls to play with," Meredith says, refusing to meet Derek's twinkling eyes. "Mrs. Rollins will help you find them, outside. How does that sound, guys?" She turns to the bigger kids.

"I can't run around too much," Dash says quietly, his eyes downcast.

Meredith doesn't miss the pain on his parents' faces.

"It's okay, Dash, we can play quiet stuff outside too," Zola assures him. "I have waterproof checkers."

"She does?" Derek whispers to Meredith, who just raises her eyebrows in Mrs. Rollins's direction.

"It's settled, then," Mrs. Rollins announces cheerfully. "All humans smaller than a regulation adult, follow me!"

Meredith has the thought that although it's a rather cute way of commandeering the children, Lillian the supposed toddler doesn't look _too_ far off from a regulation adult.

… but that's another issue.

…

Once the adults have broken away, they separate further.

Boys … and girls.

And not to read separate books, either.

Derek and Dries keep their coats on; they're headed out on the trail, to talk.

And Meredith and Nathalie stay behind, in the kitchen, so they can cook.

… cook up a plan, that is.

"I'm still interested," Nathalie says quietly as soon as the men are out of earshot. Softly, with pain in her voice, she fills Meredith in on the time since their first conversation on the playground. "Dries does not want to try it. Like I told you before. He is – grateful that you care for what happens to our son, but it is too risky. He has been through too much."

Meredith just listens patiently. "Nathalie … I can't imagine what you've been through." She pauses. "It's not the same, of course, but Zola … she was sick, when she first came into our lives."

"Really?" Nathalie looks disbelieving, which Meredith understands. Zola is nothing now but the picture of health.

"Really. And we were just getting to know her, but it was – terrifying. Every moment. And then she got better, and – it was still terrifying." Meredith smiles a little bit, weakly. "But we fell in love, the moment we saw her, and … that was that."

Really, it's not _that_ different from how she and Derek fell in love with each other.

But that too is another story altogether.

"She is a special girl," Nathalie says, her eyes soft. "She has made my son feel so welcome at their school. She has been a friend to him."

"Zola enjoys spending time with Dash. They're both new to the school," Meredith adds tentatively. "They've both moved recently."

Nathalie lowers her eyes at this reference to their family's search for help for Dash, and Meredith takes advantage of the transition.

"I know you've sought other opinions and it must be incredibly frustrating and exhausting. And – we don't want to add to that. It's the last thing we want to do. We wouldn't bother you – if we didn't think we could help."

"No one else could help."

"No one else is Derek," Meredith says simply. "He's not a pediatric surgeon, I know, but the work he did at Sinai, in New York, has direct relevance here. He worked with one of the pioneers of the method he would use to – he would use, if we could treat your son."

"And you," Nathalie says, "how do you fit in?"

"Two ways." Meredith leans forward in her chair. "First, Derek and I work well together."

Better now than ever, in fact.

"And second, I spent six months in Seattle caring for a child with Wilkes-Rayber."

"That's not the same as Marlborough."

"I know. But the two surgeries we performed are in parallel regions, with parallel techniques."

Nathalie looks unconvinced.

"We saved her life," Meredith says softly.

She can see Nathalie thinking, wondering – and fearing.

"Your husband," Nathalie says after a moment. "He was a surgeon in New York. And in Seattle."

Meredith nods.

"He's here, in Washington, for a surgery?"

"Well, he's working on a research project right now," Meredith says. "A massive one, that could have long term implications."

Nathalie looks unconvinced. "And you, you have been a surgeon here? At a Washington hospital?"

"I've actually been taking care of the children," Meredith admits.

"Oh." Nathalie leans back in her chair. She laughs a little. "So it makes perfect sense that you want to drill into my son's head and – rewire his brain."

Meredith can't really blame her reaction.

"Mrs. Bakker – Nathalie – I don't you to think we invited you over here because we want to talk you into letting us operate on your son."

"All right." Nathalie looks at Meredith. "But – you did invite us here for that reason, didn't you?"

"Well … yes." Meredith takes a sip of her coffee. "We did. It's just – it sounded better in my head."

"Without offense … it is _crazy_ ," Nathalie says. Meredith isn't sure if it's because it's an emotional topic or because of something linguistic, but the other woman's voice is more accented than it was before, soft with melodious French influence. "Meredith – we appreciate the interest you have taken in our son. Truly, we do. And even more than that, we appreciate your daughter. Zola's kindness, her … gentle spirit … they have meant everything. She makes Dashiell happy. And … that is enough. That is more than enough."

Meredith is quiet, letting her finish.

"Zola really likes Dash," she says when the other woman has stopped speaking, sipping her coffee and smiling with trembling lips at Meredith. "And obviously, as his parents, you decide what's best for him."

"We try," Nathalie says. "Of course, we try."

"Of course," Meredith agrees. "That's why you've been traveling – to so many cities. So many doctors."

"They all refused. They all said there is no way."

"I know." Meredith looks down at her hands for a moment.

"But you think they are wrong."

"Not necessarily."

Nathalie arches her eyebrows. "You think they are right?"

"… not necessarily." Meredith takes a deep breath. "I think they think what they think, and I think maybe what we think might be different from what they think."

Natalie studies her face for a moment. "Forgive me, Meredith," she says, "because English is my third – no, fourth – language, but I am not sure I followed that."

Feeling very un-worldly, but pushing ahead anyway, Meredith continues. "Derek and I, we think we might be able to help. And we know other people have said no, and that's scary. It's scary that they said no and maybe – it's scary too, that we think we might be able to say yes." She pauses. "That wasn't much better, was it?"

"No," Nathalie says, and they both laugh.

It breaks the tension.

"I have to convince Dries," Nathalie says. "My husband … he's afraid."

Meredith nods. "That's understandable."

"Yes, well. My husband does not understand it," Nathalie says softly. "His fear is anger. He is angry about our son. He is angry that Dashiell is sick. Even though anger will not change anything." She lifts a hand when Meredith starts to intercede. "I know. You will say that fear will not change anything either."

"Actually, no," Meredith says quietly. "I think that fear can change everything."

Nathalie's eyebrows arch again.

"I know it sounds scary, what we want to do for Dash, but – "

"Scary?" Nathalie laughs a little, though there are tears in her eyes. "My dear Meredith, you are a surgeon. Your husband, he is also a surgeon. You cut people apart. You take lives into your own hands. My husband and I … we are not like you. We have not done scary things. Do you know what we do, our professions?"

Meredith shakes her head. Their travels and their international passports led her to assume they were diplomats of some sort, but she has no idea.

"I am a professor," she says, "a professor of French literature. My husband, he is a poet. A poet," she repeats. "We are not like you. You can't understand what it is like for us. The doctors, all the things they say. The things they try to do for Dash. How scared we are, for our son. So, I do appreciate what you want to do, but it is too much, for us. I cannot convince Dries and I cannot say yes."

Meredith takes a deep breath. It's now or never.

"I was in a plane crash," she says.

Nathalie looks confused.

"I was in a plane crash," Meredith repeats. "I survived, and Derek too, but not everyone did. My sister died, my husband's best friend died. And my husband was shot. In front of me, badly enough that we thought he wouldn't make it. I was pregnant, when it happened. And then after that, watching him almost die, I wasn't pregnant anymore. And then I watched my best friend try to save his life while she had a gun to her head."

She stops talking.

Nathalie is shaking her head. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I've done all those things," Meredith says. "All those things happened to me, around me, in front of me, and they were scary. Truly scary. But the scariest thing I've done, by far, in my life? Is being a mother."

Nathalie's eyes are glistening.

"You're a mother," Meredith says gently. "Don't say you haven't done scary things, or that you can't do scary things. You're a mother – you've done the scariest things already."

She stops talking.

Nathalie's hand, resting on the oak table, is shaking a little.

Meredith covers it with her own, smaller one. After a moment, Nathalie's larger hand grips hers and the two women sit there in silence for long breaths, gathering strength against the fear.

…

"Nathalie? It is getting late, my dear."

Dries's deep, rumbling voice announces that the men are returning. His tanned face looks serious and tired. He has the faintest trace of an accent; it sounds English to Meredith, though she's aware he's Dutch.

Behind him, Derek, who is still wearing his down vest, catches Meredith eye and shakes his head, very slightly.

Meredith lifts her chin, just enough so Derek knows she saw him.

And she gets it.

"Darling." Nathalie is turned to her own husband. "I have been speaking with Meredith, and she has some interesting things to say."

"I'm sure she does," Dries says. "We appreciate your interest in our family. We hope your daughter will continue to play with our son. She is welcome at our home, anytime."

"Thank you," Meredith says. She gestures toward the kitchen table. "Will you – sit for a moment?"

"It is so kind of you to give us so much of your time, but I'm afraid we must be going." Dries looks at his wife. "Yes, my dear? I will go get the children?"

Nathalie looks at Dries.

Meredith looks at Derek.

And then Meredith looks at Nathalie.

"No, darling," Nathalie says gently. "I am not ready to leave yet. I want you to sit with us now, to listen to what they have to say. I think they may be more than new friends. They may be what we have been searching for all along."

Meredith sees the conflict play out on Dries's face.

The fear – that sometimes masquerades as anger.

And the fear that's just plain fear.

Silently, she wills him to hear his wife, to borrow some of her strength.

"All right," he says after a long moment. He pulls out a chair and sits down, Nathalie's smaller hand folded in his, and turns to Meredith. "I'm listening."

 _So if fears can't disappear, if scary things are always with us, what can we do?_

 _We can try to lock it in a box in the closet and stay far away. That works for some fears. Small ones. But some fears are too big for a box. They're too terrible. Primal, even. And what's more primal than children? Fear for our children is as old as the world itself. Terrified parents do a lot of things. We lift cars off trapped children with superhuman strength. We take bullets. We fight grizzly bears. We donate organs._

 _And we do it with love. Because sometimes, the scariest thing of all, is just to love our children – knowing that love isn't always enough._

 _So we try to get to the other side of the fear. We have to. All we can do … is hope that whatever's on the other side is worth it in the end._

* * *

 **To be continued, of course. Thank you so much for reading! I hope you will review. I love reviews like Bailey loves Zola's things. :)**


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